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THE “LITTLE GIRL ” SERIES. 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK. 
HANNAH ANN : A SEQUEL. 

A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD BOSTON. 

A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD PHILADELPHIA. 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON. 
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 



A LITTLE GIRL IN 

OLD NEW ORLEANS 


_/*7 

^37 


AMANDA M. DOUGLAS 

AUTHOR OF “ A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK,” 
“SHERBURNE STORIES,” “A QUESTION 
OF SILENCE,” ETC. 


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NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 

1901 

4 


THE 1 ! BRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Co»-ic«j Received 

OCT. 9 1901 

COPYRIGHT ENTRY 

6t+.U<lp, 

CLASS CUXXo. No. 

Jfr/TC. 

copy a 




Copyright, 1901, 

By Dodd, Mead & Company. 


First Edition Published October, 1901. 


INSCRIBED TO 

NINO FOSTER 


A little girl comes with a silent grace, 

And with her old-time story begs a little place; 

And brings a greeting from a kindly friend, 

Who from thought’s garden culls a flower to send. 

A. M. D. 


> 




t 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

A Little Bride 


PAGE 

I 

II. 

Crossing’ the Ocean, 


13 

III. 

Old New Orleans, .... 


31 

IV. 

Sylvie and Laure, .... 


41 

V. 

How it Looked to Young Eyes, . 


• 56 

VI. 

Making a New Home, . 


70 

VII. 

A Taste of Society, 


. 85 

VIII. 

Naughty Sylvie, .... 


IOI 

IX. 

Coquetting with Friendship, 


120 

X. 

A Dream of Beauty, 


136 

XI. 

Royalty, 


. 152 

XII. 

Christmas and a Lover, . 


. 165 

XIII. 

Different Phases of Love, . 


182 

XIV. 

Of Many Things, .... 


202 

XV. 

Pointe Coup£e, .... 


. 213 

XVI. 

A Lonely Little Girl, . 


227 

XVII. 

Hugh de Brienne, .... 


• 239 

XVIII. 

Sorrow’s Crown of Sorrow, . 


• 251 

XIX. 

A New Inheritance, 


267 

XX. 

Laure, 


280 

XXI. 

Lovers and Lovers, .... 


. 297 

XXII. 

The Passing of the Old, 

. 

• 315 



A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS 


CHAPTER I. 

A LITTLE BRIDE. 

“Quick ! Quick ! I can feel my strength running 
out of my veins like a swift river. Raise me up, and — 
the drops ! Bring them in at once. What does it matter 
if it is a priest in whom we do not believe ! The marriage 
will be less likely to be disputed. Ah, if I could see my 
son, my love, my treasure, my idol ! But that cannot be ! 
Then I will do all I can for him. ,, 

The voice had been thin and shrill, and pitched on a 
high key almost like a scream. Now it sank faint and 
gasping, and the head fell back on the pillow, buried in 
the silken ruffles. 

“O mon Dieu! She is gone ” 

“I am not gone!” The eyes opened like two gleams 
of fire in surrounding darkness, and on the cheeks came 
a dull red spot, while the rest of the face was livid, and 
the lips a blue line. Yet in the sunken eyes a dominant 
will was plainly visible. “My drops — quick !” she com- 
manded. 

The attendant held the bottle up to the light. Its 
contents were at a very low ebb. She poured out half a 
dozen drops. There could be but one more dose. She 
gave it to the dying woman, but for some moments the 
result was doubtful. 


i 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


The room was in an old chateau that had known many 
a romance before, and more than one crime. It was 
large and dull now, with its faded hangings and massive 
furniture that in its day had been very handsome, and 
spoke of more than one reign of kings. Now royalty lay 
in prison, and many a heart was filled with dread. The 
high post bedstead could be shut in with its silken cur- 
tains, that were stretched apart to the uttermost, to let in 
every breath of air. The woman was barely at middle 
life, but haggard and worn to the last degree by disease. 

When the remedy took effect it appeared miraculous. 
The face flushed all over and seemed to quiver as with 
an electric shock. She raised herself by a strong effort 
of will. The nurse pushed the pillows at her back. 

‘‘Will they never come ?” impatiently. 

“Madame, the priest is here.” 

“Then bring them all in.” 

The voice sounded strangely clear. The eyes were 
fixed on the arched door-way with its faded hangings and 
heavy, tarnished fringe that had once glittered in golden 
lights. 

A small procession entered the apartment, headed by 
the priest, a tall, austere personage in whose face crafti- 
ness was held in abeyance by a certain assumed meekness. 
Next came a beautiful girl of sixteen or so, leading by 
the hand a child of five or six, a fair-haired little being 
with a sweet face, now full of curiosity. She was gowned 
in a flowing robe of satin and lace, festooned to allow the 
childish figure some freedom of movement, while the 
long train followed her in shining billows, touched with a 
certain transparent shimmering by the veil, with a crown 
of orange blossoms, many of them set with diamonds. 
The child seemed all elation in her unusual attire. 

Back of her walked a tall, well-grown young fellow 


2 


A LITTLE BRIDE. 


not much, if any, older than the girl. A fine, spirited face, 
for all its youth ; large dark eyes that had a useful quality 
of looking blank on certain occasions — eyes with the gift 
of seeing but not revealing all they saw. His hair was 
very dark too, with the purplish tints, and curling, and 
there was a delicate shading on the beautifully curved 
upper lip. The complexion was fine and healthy, with 
a tint of pink in the boyish cheeks. 

“Do not wait a moment,” entreated the tremulous 
voice. “Father Mambert, you know what is demanded 
of you. Proceed at once, Angelique, lead her up here, 
close by me ” 

The child shrank back suddenly, and her blue eyes 
dilated with a flash of terror as the thin, pallid hand was 
stretched out. But the next instant it dropped on the 
bed, helpless. 

“O, you need not be afraid. It is only to promise to 
your dear Gervaise. Begin, Sir Priest.” 

There had entered back of the bridal procession two 
servitors of the better class, intelligent, well-bred and 
grave. The woman led the little one forward and placed 
her hand in that of Gervaise, when she glanced up and 
smiled. Angelique Saucier stood at her side. 

“It is your wish, Madame, nay, your command, that 
I unite Sylvie Perrier in marriage by proxy to Monsieur 
de Brienne?” began the priest. 

“It is my son’s wish as well as my own. Gervaise, 
you understand? You marry Sylvie for my son Hugh. 
You solemnly swear to convey her to Canada, Quebec, — 
my mind is a little confused about names. You will find 
him and deliver to him his wife. Swear it — loyally, 
valiantly, to a dying mother.” 

“God helping me, I will search faithfully for him,” 
and he placed his hand over that of the death-stricken 


3 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


woman. No one seemed to remark that the rest of the 
promise was left unuttered. Madame de Brienne’s 
breathing became more labored. She signed to the priest 
without speaking. 

It was a weird, solemn ceremony. Madame made a 
snatch at the child’s hand and gave it to Gervaise at the 
proper moment. It seemed as if she had been saving 
up her strength for this, disposing of the little child with 
no volition on her part, no understanding of what she was 
signing away, a girl’s choice, a woman’s freedom, the 
right to love when her time came. 

The ceremony was over. The priest produced a piece 
of parchment, long and not all unrolled. “You will sign 
for her?” he said to Mademoiselle Saucier, pointing to 
the place. 

“Let her make her mark herself. Let me. Barbette, 
guide my hand. Marguerite de Brienne. Can you read 
it plainly? Now, Angelique, Gervaise, and you, too, 
Barbe, with Jaques. Is it all done?” 

“It is all done, Madame,” and the priest bowed. 

“Barbette, give Father Mambert the two gold pieces 
on that tray. Now go your way, Sir Priest,” dismissing 
him peremptorily. 

He glided out of the room and through the great hall 
full of shadows. Quite at the door another cowled priest 
rose. 

“Well ” he exclaimed, half inquiringly. 

“After the funeral Mademoiselle and her charge will 
go to the convent for safety. Once out of Paris, we will 
decide. Then the house may be ransacked — it will likely 
be pillaged before we reach the end. All papers and 
valuables — there was a wreath set with diamonds — will 
go to the convent, to the Holy Church whose property 
it was in the beginning. As for the heretical souls ” 


A LITTLE BRIDE. 


He made a very expressive gesture. 

“If the Church itself is not swept away,” said the other. 
“Every day the spirit of destruction and irreligion rises 
higher and higher. Next week we will get what we can 
out of Paris. The devil will hold high carnival before it 
is through.” 

“They cannot be so crazy ! But the Church will with- 
stand the whirlwind and the tempest. Still it behooves 
us to gather what we can out of the wreck.” 

As they went their way they laid sinister plans. The 
King was in prison yielding every day to some new de- 
mand of the rabble. Where it was to stop no human eye 
could foresee. Disbelief in all things was running ram- 
pant in Paris, but the unspoken terror had not yet in- 
vaded the environs, the ruin had not yet begun. 

As the priest left the room Madame de Brienne at- 
tempted to speak, but the words only made a gurgle in 
her throat. Her eyes appeared to sink farther back, her 
thin nose sharpened ; a curious shudder passed over her. 
The nurse poured the remaining medicine into a glass 
and added a little water. But the jaw seemed suddenly 
set. Only the convulsive movement betokened life. 

Sylvie clung to Angelique in terror. 

“Take them away,” the nurse said to Barbette. Then 
in a lower tone — “She is dying, but it may be hours. 
Madame is strong.” 

They passed through the adjoining room into a sort 
of ell. 

“I have something to tell you,” Gervaise began. 

“There is a plan on foot ” he looked up at Jaques 

with mute inquiry. 

“To take Mam’selle and Sylvie and all the valuables 
to the Convent of St. Eudor. Whether you will ever 
come out again ” 


5 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“But we are not Catholics, we are Huguenots! And 

that marriage ” Angelique’s face was full of scorn 

and disbelief. 

“And the Church of Rome is to be overthrown as well 
as all other things,” exclaimed Jaques. “Everything is 
to go. It is even said they will execute the King. And 
some go so far as to say there will be no Sunday, no — no 
anything, in the complete overturn. And we had better 
escape while we may. Mam’selle, you will have no taste 
for convent life?” 

“There were martyrs in our family ere this,” replied 
the girl, proudly. “I could die for my religion, but I 
could never be a Catholic.” 

“You see it is not safe to remain. True, we are not 
in the heart of Paris, but every place of note may be ran- 
sacked. And between the two fires ” 

“But we are going to Canada ” interrupted 

Angelique, glancing from Gervaise to Jaques, her face 
growing pale with something she seemed to read on each 
countenance. 

“We are not going to Canada. It was to Detroit 
whither Cousin Hugh went, and that was long ago. I 
could not make Madame understand and gave up the 
attempt. Whether he is dead or alive ” 

“Oh, no, he cannot be dead!” Angelique uttered a 
heart-breaking cry. 

“I mean to find him if he is in the New World,” de- 
clared Gervaise. “We must all go thither. There is 
little to hold us here except this old house and memories 
of the past. The house may be wrested from us and de- 
stroyed. Jaques knows more of the danger than I, and 
he has planned. We are to go to Holland at once. 
Angelique, you and Barbe gather up the valuables that 
can be put in a small compass. We knew Madame must 
6 


A LITTLE BRIDE. 


die — but I thought it would be before this wretched 
travesty. I am sure Hugh will consider it no marriage 
at all. And we have been arranging matters for the past 
week. I have all the papers of value, for sometime we 
may return, or at least Cousin Hugh may desire to. But 
I mean to take my chance in the New World. There are 
even fortunes to be made.’’ 

Angelique’s eyes were alight with admiration at the 
vigor and purpose in the boyish face that seemed even as 
she looked at it to grow older and more manly. Next 
after Hugh he was heir to the De Brienne estates. Ah — 
if Hugh were gone ! She clasped her hand suddenly to 
her heart. 

“Hurry,” he exclaimed. “There is no time to be lost. 
Barbe has Madame’s diamonds quilted in her skirt. 
And the pearls and emeralds. And here — take these out 
of the wreath. For a century or more every bride of 
the house of Brienne has worn it.” 

“Oh, can we not save it as it is?” pleaded Angelique. 
Would there never be another bride in the old house? 

She had been taking off the veil and unfastening the 
loopings of the voluminous skirt that fell around the 
child like great piles of ivory snow, as it looks in the 
sunlight. 

“No, I think not. Jaques, have you pincers or any- 
thing? You see it must be put in a box, and that would 
add to the bulk.” 

The wreath was made largely of silver whitened to a 
wax-like appearance, passing every now and then through 
the hands of a jeweller to have its pristine glory restored. 
It was somewhat tarnished now. Angelique handed it 
reluctantly over to Jaques. She felt dazed with the sud- 
denness of the tidings, with the strange events of the 
whole day, and this weird marriage. 

7 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

Barbette took Sylvie to her room to change her 
fantastic attire. 

“I am married to Gervaise,” she began, suddenly. 
“When you are married you have a husband.” 

“Yes — yes,” absently. 

“And where are we going? To the Palace?” 

“Oh, no. I do not just know myself.” 

“Don’t put on that ugly brown frock. Gervaise does 
not like it. He said so only this morning.” 

“Well, there is the blue one, if that is better.” 

“Yes, it is. It does not quite match my eyes. It is 
too dark. Angelique, why are you not married?” 

“You are a vain little piece,” evading the query. 

Barbette stood in the doorway. 

“Must we go, Barbe?” pleaded Angelique. For now 
Ihe old chateau with its broad acres, its dense woods, 
its running streams, its songs of birds, its wealth of 
bloom, seemed a part of her very life, indeed all the life 
she had ever known. 

“Pierre has just come. Things are worse in Paris. 
People are beginning to fly. It is very lucky that 
Gervaise listened so readily.” 

“But when was it all arranged? I don’t understand. 
And why do we not go to England ?” 

“Jaques thinks Holland better. They have been plan- 
ning the last fortnight, and I have been making ready. 
But we did not want the servants to know. We suspect 
there may be a tell-tale somewhere. And there was 
Madame — she is almost gone. -Her body is cold except 
a little warmth about the heart. Poor Madame ! Almost 
the last of her race, and such a fine woman in her day ! 
But she will be buried in the old chapel vault with her 
kindred. All the plans have been given to Matthieu. 
When it is dusk we steal out ; they will think we women 

8 


A LITTLE BRIDE. 


are gone to bed. Gervaise and Jaques are supposed to 
take the carriage to go in to Paris. There will be one 
waiting at the entrance to the long wood. There can be 
no alarm given until morning.” 

“But it is so mysterious ” 

“Yes. You will hear all about it on the journey. 
There will be plenty of time to talk. There is the sum- 
mons to dinner. Let us go unconcerned, then I will tell 
you the rest. Father Mambert will be here in the 
morning.” 

Angelique shuddered. “He has a terrible face,” she 
said, “so resolute, so merciless if need be.” 

“They think they are going to step in and rule. They 
will find themselves bitterly mistaken !” 

They entered the large dining-room. It looked eerie 
enough in the dim light of the waxen candles, the 
furniture massive and black with age. In one end was 
set a small round table. The larger one was covered with 
a cloth thrown over the plate and china, and looked 
ghostly, like a pall, Angelique thought. Gervaise joined 
them. Barbe sat and waited on them. She was some- 
thing more than Sylvie’s nurse, a friend and companion. 

“I have been dressing my doll for her marriage,” 
Sylvie said to Gervaise. “But there is no one to marry 
her to. And can I have the priest? Though I don’t 
like him.” 

“We will find some one to-morrow.” 

“You can’t have two wives, can you?” raising her 
heavenly blue eyes to him. 

“I believe not,” smiling thoughtfully. 

“Then you can’t marry Marie Antoinette, because you 
have married me.” 

“No.” He gave a short laugh in a meaningless 
fashion. Queens and kings had been married by 
proxy. 


9 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Who can you find ? Oh, we might go over to Dessiers 
and get Philippe.” 

“Why, so we might, to-morrow. Yes, that is what we 
will do,” nodding in a satisfied fashion. 

The butler hovered about the table. Once Angelique 
made some comment, but Gervaise touched her foot and 
returned an irrelevant answer. No one seemed inclined 
to eat. And as they rose, a bell tolled suddenly. They 
all started. 

A grave old servitor stood in the hall. 

“I have to announce the death of our honored and 
esteemed mistress, Madame Rooul de Brienne, born 
Mademoiselle Marguerite Hortense de Chatilly. A fine 
and honorable woman, full of kindliness and many 
virtues. God rest her soul in Paradise !” 

There seemed all at once a strange solemnity through 
the chateau. Servants huddled together and spoke in 
whispers. Barbette made a point of sending Angelique 
and Sylvie to their rooms, whither she soon followed 
them. Some hurried preparations were made. 

“Where are we going?” asked the child. 

“As far as Dessiers. The moon will be up presently, 
and we will have a nice ride. There, keep quiet. You 
will meet Gervaise.” Cloaked and hooded, the two 
threaded their way through a side passage and a small 
paved courtyard. Gervaise stood waiting. 

“Barbette will overtake us,” Angelique said. 

“Yes, that is all right.” 

The great hound rose and followed them. Gervaise 
had not the heart to send him back. 

Barbette went to the room of Madame. She had been 
a kind mistress until the last two years of illness, but she 
really loved no human being except her son. For him 
she had schemed to possess the fortune of the Perriers, 


io 


A LITTLE BRIDE. 


which was to be engulfed in the whirlwind of passion that 
swept over France, that she had scarcely heard of, and now 
would never know. The nurse and her maid were per- 
forming the last offices. It seemed a sad, heathenish 
death, but there was no Huguenot minister within reach, 
and a priest she would not have for herself. 

The Church had its greedy eye on the child’s fortune 
as well. Once immured inside of convent walls, there 
would be small redress in these troublous time. Indeed, 
who was there to question any proceeding? 

“I am very weary,” Barbette said. “To-morrow will 
be a busy day. So if I can do nothing to help, I think 
I will retire.” 

“We must send for the priest the first thing in the 
morning, Madame Barbette,” said Susanne, the maid. 

“Whatever young Master Gervaise thinks best we will 
do,” she answered, gravely. “There can nothing be done 
to-night.” 

“I can willingly believe these heretics have no souls,” 
said Susanne, disdainfully, when Barbette had left them. 
“They are hardened as rocks.” 

She went her way quietly after locking the door of her 
room. Then she soon caught up with the fugitives. 
Two carriages were waiting. The men took the lead, 
the women followed with a trusty young lad for driver. 
Sylvie soon grew sleepy and Barbe took her on her lap. 
Then she told Angelique of the plot Jaques had un- 
earthed. The fathers of St. Eudor were to take charge 
of everything and have themselves appointed guardians 
of the young heiress, who would, in all probability, be 
brought up a Catholic and a nun. 

“But — Cousin Hugh ” said Angelique. 

“There are many ways of getting over difficulties 
when money lies at the end. What if Hugh never comes 


ii 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


back? And no one knows the end of the trouble. It 
is said the King will be put to death, and the poor, un- 
fortunate Queen! There is terror everywhere. People 
are flying in every direction from Paris. Arrests of in- 
nocent people happen, a dozen — nay, I think a hundred — 
times a day. If we can only reach Holland in safety! 
The New World cannot be any worse. There is liberty 
of religion, at all events. And now the colonies are at 
peace, and all is going smoothly.” 

“But — we may return ” ventured the girl. To 

leave home and everything seemed heart-rending. 

They were more fortunate than many, as they learned 
only a little later. In Amsterdam they heard the awful 
story of the inauguration of the Reign of Terror. 
Many well-known friends of the De Briennes perished. 
Property was confiscated, swept away, destroyed. 
Catholics and Protestants were alike despoiled. 

And then they started on another journey to a new 
home in a new world. Gervaise Aubreton was full of 
the spirit of adventure, Barbette and Jaques restored 
the balance of gravity. Indeed, Barbette was like a 
mother to both girls ; a superior woman in every respect, 
the foster sister of little Sylvie’s mother, and her com- 
panion of the two brief years of her happy married life. 
Her husband, an officer, had perished in battle, and she 
had died of grief. Barbette had promised never to leave 
the child, but the De Briennes were relatives and Madame 
had applied for the guardianship of the child conjointly 
with her son Hugh, who had then gone to Canada to 
dispose of some lands and to treat with some parties 
now in power since the unwilling cession, or rather con- 
quest, of England. 

Then Madame de Brienne had been seized with a 
mysterious and painful disease that baffled the medical 

12 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 

skill of that day. Gervaise Aubreton had been sum- 
moned to the chateau, and, young as he was, made a sort 
of secretary. He was next in succession to Hugh, but 
much as Madame depended on him (for he was wise 
and trusty beyond his years), she still held a certain 
jealous feeling about him. Angelique Saucier was also 
a relative on another family line, a penniless orphan, and 
Madame had proved a kindly friend. Yet the last six 
months had tried the patience of every attendant and 
relative, and no one had dared forbid the fantastic mar- 
riage, followed so speedily by her death. 


CHAPTER II. 

CROSSING THE OCEAN. 

It was a long journey, with many perils and adven- 
tures, that the little girl from old France took before she 
reached the strange New World, where she was to unfold 
and blossom, to grow from the bud of childhood to girlish 
sweetness and lovely womanhood. 

They reached Amsterdam after a tedious journey, and 
found some friends among the sturdy Huguenot settlers. 
There were emigrants going to America all the time; 
there was the land of hard-won liberty, there were French 
and Spanish colonies, and there were new French settle- 
ments. There was boundless wealth to be had for work, 
for brains that could plan, and Gervaise Aubreton was 
fired with these glowing accounts. 

Master Vollenkoven did much trading with Nieu Am- 
sterdam, as he loved to call it. He had agents there who 
sent orders and disposed of whatever he shipped to them. 


13 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


And though no one had any very clear idea of the situa- 
tion of Detroit except that it was on the great chain of 
lakes, Gervaise planned that he could leave the women in 
the port city, New York, and, with Jaques, go on a hunt 
for Hugh de Brienne. 

For the news from Paris was terrible. Men, even, 
shuddered over it. Their escape had not been a day too 
soon. 

Master Vollenkoven advised them to leave some of 
their money in a safe banking house. Never but once 
had he met with any untoward fate, but the ocean was 
infested with pirates, though it was true they were more 
to the south. And, in any event, it would be good to 
have something to fall back upon. 

“And, Master Vollenkoven,” said Barbe, “since you 
take such a friendly interest in us, which is most gracious 
and kindly, I will confess I have some of the De Brienne 
jewels. If Sir Hugh should never be found, the next 
heir is Master Gervaise, and the little lass who is related 
on the Chatilly side. I will give them into your keeping 
for a few years. One hardly knows whom to trust in 
a strange land.” 

“You will not find your confidence misplaced, Mistress 
Barbette. Almost I feel tempted to say to you, let the 
young fellow go over and see what awaits him, and you 
remain here for a while until things are better settled.” 

But the others would not consent to this scheme. 
Jaques had wished for some years to emigrate, and 
Angelique was quite ready to try her fortunes in the New 
World. 

As for Sylvie, she was like a sunbeam, with the new 
freedom that came to her. She sang gay little French 
songs that she had learned from her neighbor, Philippe, 
as well as Angelique. Everything amused her. She was 

14 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


sweet and dainty and playful, and sat on the master’s 
knee chattering so rapidly that he but half-understood. 
The good vrou envied her, for she had no children of her 
own. 

“But I couldn’t stay, Barbe, if Gervaise goes,” she said 
with sweet gravity. “For I am his little wife, you know, 
and husbands and wives stay together always.” 

Barbette took her on her knee. Already the mystery 
had proved a little troublesome. 

“Listen, my child,” she began, gravely. “This is to be 
a secret for years to come. You are too young to under- 
stand all the reasons, but when you are larger and older, 
it will all be explained to you. See how well you can 
keep it in your little heart like a sweet, modest girl, until 
Gervaise is ready. Men do not like to be teased about 
such things. He might tire of you by and by. See what 
a pretty little lady you can be about the matter. It is like 
this — ” (she opened the jewel casket) — “all these precious 
things are hidden within. It is not the right time to wear 
them. Some day you may put them on, and then you will 
be a wife in truth. Now we shut them up again just as 
you shut up your secret.” 

The large blue eyes studied Barbe with a sort of slow 
wonder. Then she placed her hand on her heart with a 
long, tender sigh, and said in a sweet, wistful tone : 

“How old must I be, Barbe?” 

“About twelve, I think.” 

“That is six years. Barbe,” with a shy, pleading look, 
“may I talk to you sometimes ? Angelique will not listen.” 

“Yes, but to no one else. It is our secret.” 

The child smiled and kissed her. Then she sighed 
again with an unchildlike tenderness and resignation. 

“It will be six years — a little longer than I have lived 
already. And it seems a great while since I hunted the 

15 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


woods of Brienne for flowers and nodded to the hares 
running about. And Philippe and Dessiers! Oh, it is 
long, long ago/’ with a pathetic quiver of the small red 
mouth. 

Barbe kissed and comforted her. 

The good Rudersdorp was freighted presently. Beside 
the French refugees, there were only three passengers: 
a portly Dutchman and his good vrou, going to rejoin 
their son who had made a home in the New World, and an 
Englishman, appointed to settle some business and en- 
force some claims, and who railed continually at the 
colonies, and had much hard talk about the French. In- 
deed, there were times when Gervaise flared up and it 
took all the stolid good-nature of Captain Bolmer to 
preserve peace. 

There had been rather a sad parting with the Vollen- 
kovens, for they had become much attached to the emi- 
grants, but they gave many good wishes for a successful 
quest, and proffered a home and a welcome, if they tired 
of the New World. For although there had been much 
going back and forth for the last hundred years, people 
were still strangely ignorant, and seemed to have a vague 
idea that if one really settled in America, there was some 
fear of their becoming Indianized and taking up a wild 
life. 

At first, the weather was fair and the journey pleasant, 
although Angelique was haunted by strange, awesome 
fears when they were on the wide ocean. The ship 
seemed so small, so frail in that boundless waste. Any 
little mishap, and they would go fathoms deep to an 
unknown grave. 

What wonderful days and nights those were! The 
wind sang in the sails and drove them along, sometimes 
on a blue sea, sometimes turning a translucent green, 

16 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


glowing morning and evening in such colors as they had 
never seen in France. Burning bars of saffron and 
blood-red, a dome of gold growing richer, denser, with 
a commingling of such colors that one could only watch 
in amaze; streaming banners of rose and green, and 
all glowing iridescence, until the whole broadening 
heavens defined the sea-line out of which the sun came 
up in majesty and splendor. 

And when he went down in the sea again, all the colors 
were softened. Masses of shadow began to be differentiated 
among the slowly fading colors, as if vaguely asserting 
some other world ; infinite lengths of distance, islands, and 
vistas with haunting suggestions, dying away in the 
twilight, until all was a soft gray, and the sea-line had 
faded. Then they seemed to creep onward like some 
great ghost. Were they really alive? Angelique asked 
herself. The influence was so weird and dreamy. 

Then there were curious blows when all the ocean 
seemed in a turmoil, and each wave tossed up a great 
froth like a fleece of wool that the wind tore in tatters 
and sent off in fragments. Angelique was fright- 
ened at first; then she began to enjoy these freaks of 
wildness. Two soft rainy days, with very little wind, 
when they seemed sailing in a mist, heaving and tossing 
in a great gray expanse as if heaven had dropped an im- 
penetrable shroud over their heads, and they huddled 
together awe-stricken. 

But, in the main, it was a pleasant journey for the first 
fortnight. They had time to talk over the old days, 
Angelique and Gervaise read their Latin and French 
poets, and sang songs, to the great delight of the crew. 
They listened to Captain Bolmer’s wonderful stories of 
the New World, the two cities he knew most about, New 
York and Boston. Once he had sailed to the Floridas, 


1 7 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and some strange verdurous islands just below the Gulf 
of Mexico. And there was all the southern world 
Cortez and Pizarro had taken possession of, and found 
in them rich treasures for Spain. 

Out of this idyllic life, just as it seemed as if they were 
to go on forever, came the storm. Clouds began to fly 
low like great birds. Tempestuous waves beat up to the 
gray vault of heaven, and tore in shreds the clouds that 
ventured too near. An awful, inarticulate war seemed 
following them like some dreadful wild beast, ready to 
crunch them up. The crested waves rose mountains high 
and lashed themselves in wild fury. And though the 
rain was not terrific at any time, and the good captain 
comforted them by stories of so much wilder gales, the 
women shrank in wordless terror. 

The wind lasted longer than the rain. Indeed, 
though the sun did not really shine on the third day, 
there were patches of blue sky visible, and they were 
allowed on deck though the vessel still pitched and 
groaned. 

“We are far out of our course,” said the captain, “but 
we cannot right ourselves in a blow like this. To- 
morrow will be fair. It will only make us two or three 
days later.” 

“What a wonderful thing a ship is !” exclaimed 
Angelique in admiration. “It seemed as if we must be 
engulfed every moment. Was there no danger? Yet 
it was as terrible to live through as if we were all going 
to destruction the next instant.” 

“It is good for you to see a storm like this,” and there 
was a twinkle in his eye that was nearly always screwed 
half shut. “Oh, it was not bad, not half bad! I have 
weathered many a worse one. So has the good Ruders- 
dorp. For five years I have sailed her. And though we 

18 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


have gone out of our course, it is better to give in to a 
devil of a wind than to run into her teeth. They can bite 
sharp.” 

“Why do you call it ‘she’? Didn’t the Greeks call it 
Boreas and Neptune?” 

Captain Bolmer laughed. “I know not much about 
the old Greeks,” he said. “Such a wind makes me think 
of an angry, scolding woman. You cannot make 
headway against her. You keep to leeward.” 

Toward night the wind fell and bid fair to change 
before morning. But it had consequences no wisdom 
could have foreseen. 

They descried another vessel the next morning, hasten- 
ing in their direction, it appeared. At first she carried 
a French flag. That was hauled down and the English 
raised in its stead. 

“I do not like her looks,” declared the mate, with an 
ominous shake of his head. 

Captain Bolmer studied her through the glass. There 
was no friendly port to run into. The man’s bronzed 
and weather-beaten face paled. What could he do 
against such an enemy? They might fight to the death 
against overwhelming odds and sell their lives dearly, 
but the two women and the child — what would be their 
fate? 

The vessel was well manned and came on with a fell 
purpose. Now they saw what she was, a pirate ship, 
and they were doomed. 

“We shall sell our lives dearly, men,” cried the mate. 
“To the guns !” 

“Nay, it has been said all that a man hath will he give 
for his life, and perhaps the life of others. Do you not 
see that we should be overpowered at once !” 

“And are we to stand here and be murdered in cold 
blood !” cried the angry sailor. 


19 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


A quick shot rattled over the distance, followed by a 
fierce command. 

“As well, perhaps, as in in hot blood,” returned the 
prudent captain. “Listen, men : We have no chance 
against them. Look at their bristling guns ! It will be 
wise to make the best bargain we can. I know it does 
not look heroic, but one can throw away one’s life any 
day. There are the women to think of. And when we 
are all murdered, the pirates will have their own way. 
We shall have done them little harm.” 

“We may cost the devils some lives ” 

“As if that brood was not always on the increase! 
What would a few men be to them !” 

Gervaise had taken it in. They had whiled away some 
of the magnificent moonlight evenings with stories of 
the daring and cruel captures of merchantmen by pirates 
who infested the southern seas, and had many a well-nigh 
impenetrable hiding-place in the islands and hidden coves 
about. 

For now there was a clang of steel, and shouts, and a 
fierce hubbub. The guns were trained on the Ruders- 
dorp. For an instant the men had mutinied, and then the 
certain capture had sobered them, as the swift vessel, 
bristling with men and culverins, neared them. 

“To the women ! You and Jaques. Keep them in the 
cabin,” cried the captain, with a paling face. 

Gervaise went at once. Angelique, terrified, was 
wildly crying out. 

“Yes, it is a pirate ship. It swarms with men and 
arms. The sailors want to fight. Captain Bolmer is 
intrenched in solid Dutch phlegm. They will take us 
all, but fighting would only be the satisfaction of 
courage ” 

“Will they murder us?” demanded Barbe. 


20 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


“Heaven only knows !” Gervaise pulled the stout bolt 
on the door. Angelique threw herself in a little heap 
and buried her face in Barbette’s lap. Sylvie stood 
wide-eyed and terrified. 

They listened to the trampling, the oaths, the shouting 
and confusion of tongues, the report of a pistol or two, 
and huddled together in a terrified group. The pirate 
captain made short work of his parley, but it seemed 
hours to them in the awful uncertainty. 

There was a voice at the cabin door. It was Jaques, 
and yet they shrank in alarm. 

“Let me in,” he exclaimed, and Gervaise drew the bolt. 
“It is settled, whether for good or ill,” and his voice was 
tremulous with excitement. “It was hard to restrain the 
men. Our good captain was not wanting in courage, 
but, faith ! there is sometimes greater bravery in wisdom 
and common sense. We could do nothing but throw 
away our lives. We may have them taken by this 
devil’s crew, after all. They fairly swarm, like ants in a 
hill. Some of them have come from the Barbary coast, 
and are savage to look upon. Heaven help us all !” 

“Do you suppose we shall be murdered? That were 
not the worst.” Barbette glanced fearfully at the head 
in her lap, and now Sylvie was clinging to her shoulder. 

“The captain hath made a proffer. We are to be set 
ashore somewhere. That is as far as I have heard. 
They want the vessel. Perhaps that and the goods will 
satisfy them. There are some settlements about, some 
quite towns. We drifted so far out of our course.” 

Then they waited again. From the noise and con- 
fusion one might fancy a battle was going on. Voices 
were raised in trumpet tones, oaths were bandied about, 
there was a rattle and clang of arms, the trampling of 
a multitude. 


21 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


The captain came down after a long while, it appeared 
to the little group, waiting in frightful anxiety and 
dreading their fate. 

“Your Greek, Master Neptune, hath played us a 
scurvy trick this time,” to Gervaise, with a smile sadder 
than any sorrow. “But we were delivered into the 
enemies’ hands, and prisoners must make what terms 
they can. The rascally crew are three to our one, they 
and their vessel armed to the teeth. Good Master Vollen- 
koven will be sorry enough, though many of my good 
guelders go with the venture. But I know him well, and 
he knows and trusts me, and would rather I should save 
the womenkind. For, if we had been overpowered, 
there is no telling what these devils would have done. 
And so ” 

There were tears in the honest blue eyes, and the voice 
broke with a sort of terror. 

“They are in the hold going over the cargo; Master 
Vollenkoven’s choice wines and Flemish cloths, and laces 
and silks that were meant for the gay damsels of New 
Amsterdam. And now let me tell over my plan. The 
Ten Broecks must share the loss of some, perhaps 
all, their worldly wealth; the Englishman has not much 
to lose. I said there was a woman and two children — it 
is this one who is in danger,” and he tapped the shoulder 
of the fair girl. “They will not care to be burdened 
with children. Mam’selle Angelique must be a sick 
child, I said she was ill with some strange disease. Her 
face must be made ghastly pale. Tie up her head with 
a coif, and keep her in her berth. They will no doubt 
search the cabin.” 

“How wise in Master Vollenkoven to insist I should 
leave a portion of my money and some jewels with him,” 
declared Barbe. And she gave thanks that she had been 


22 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 

shrewd enough to hide others where they would be little 
suspected. 

“Get the child to bed as soon as possible. Cry and be 
fretful, as if in pain. I have some cases of beautifying 
powder in my cabin ” 

“I have some here,” interrupted Barbette. 

“Quick then. Is there not some black stuff with 
which gay demoiselles darken their brows ? Or the 
wick of a burnt candle will do. Make a shade under 
her eyes. And now the paleness. It will wash off and 
thou wilt be pretty again for someone’s eyes, little maid. 
Get thee to bed and groan most disconsolately, if visitors 
come.” 

They all assisted in the transformation, and Angelique 
tumbled into her small berth again. Then the captain 
left them, bidding them cheer each other, and hope for a 
speedy release. 

Meanwhile the pirate crew were ransacking bales and 
cases, and planning and congratulating themselves in so 
fierce a manner that it seemed as if they would come to 
blows. Then the leader gave orders that the ships should 
be lashed together and sail on. The whiskey and brandy 
flowed freely, and presently there was a half-rebellion 
among the men, when the captain administered a severe 
lashing to some of the desperadoes and had them put in 
irons. 

It was late in the afternoon when they demanded 
admittance to the cabin. Jaques opened the door. The 
captain was a powerfully built man, with a great shock 
of black hair and piercing eyes, a huge beard that had 
reddish tints in it, and a dress that was a queer con- 
glomeration of styles, most of the garments very rich 
of their kind, but soiled, and showing traces of hard 
usage. Two men stood behind, peering curiously about. 
23 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Barbette was holding Sylvie in her arms. Gervaise 
sat on a box. He had on a blouse of Jaques and a pair 
of his clumsy shoes. 

Barbette glanced up, really terrified at the fierce face 
and figure before her. 

“The sick child?” he inquired, in excellent French. 

Barbette shook her head and indicated the berth from 
whence came a groan and a restless movement. He 
stalked over, but Angelique appeared unconscious of his 
scrutiny. 

For a moment the man seemed nonplussed. 

“Your children?” he asked abruptly. 

“Nay, Monsieur. Their parents are dead ; their 
fortune was swallowed up by the Commune. We fled. 
We are poor emigrants. I am the nurse.” 

“Ha !” exclaimed one of the men, with a sudden thrust 
forward. “Treasure!” He pointed to the brass clamped 
chest. 

“Take the keys and search, M’sieu,” and Barbe held 
them out to him. 

The captain struck the hand down with a blow that 
made the other wince. Perhaps it was the amount of 
treasure they had found with such small opposition that 
rendered him more kindly inclined. There seemed 
nothing to whet his cupidity, no protest to arouse 
suspicion, such as the Dutch couple had made. These 
people were evidently what the captain had represented 
them to be, not worth meddling with. 

You will disembark in the morning,” he said. “No 
one shall molest you. If you were a pretty young 
woman we might ask you to bear us company,” and he 
chuckled hoarsely. 

Then they disappeared and the cabin was molested no 
further. All the long afternoon they remained within 


24 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


and heard the laughter and carousing. Then the night 
dropped down with its short twilight, and the two ships 
kept on their way. 

Captain Bolmer came to the cabin with the mate and 
one of the crew. 

“If there is any foul play, we will be on guard,” he 
announced, briefly. 

But there were no alarms. The rough merriment and 
drunken revelry was hushed. They slept a little. After 
midnight a gibbous moon shed a faint light over the 
waters, and the myriad stars twinkled and shone in the 
blue arch overhead. 

There was a stir suddenly, a shout of command, a 
rumbling sound. 

“Come, you rascally fellows! Row whatever you will 
take to the shore. We have enough rubbish. We can 
afford to be liberal,” with a coarse laugh. 

They freighted the boat with bales and boxes, and the 
sailors rowed it ashore, coming back for another load. 
Barbe’s chest and the other boxes passed unmolested. 

“And now the women and the brats !” 

Jaques lifted Angelique in his arms, rolled in a blanket, 
understanding well what would have been her fate if her 
real identity had been known. Gervaise took Sylvie, 
half-asleep, who snuggled closely down on his shoulder. 
Barbette came last. 

“Thank your saints, whoever they may be, that you are 
let off so easy. Bon voyage to you. Wish us good luck !” 
and the captain ended with a tremendous oath. 

“If I wished at all it would be to see you all swinging 
in chains at the yard-arm,” cried one of the crew, as 
the two vessels stood out and turned slowly. “Surely 
the devil ought to get his own !” 

“tie is in no hurry for those he is sure of,” commented 
Jaques. 


25 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Well, we have escaped with whole skins so far. It is 
the first time I have fallen in with pirates, and a villanous 
lot they were! Now that I look back, I wonder they 
did not murder us all in cold blood !” 

“As they would have been only too glad to, if you had 
been allowed your way, Martin Grill. Well, they have 
given us some food, and a desert island, perhaps. It is 
still too dark to explore. And I had nothing but a 
month’s wage coming to me that the bloody pirates 
could not take away, blast them !” 

Various comments were uttered. The Englishman 
now thought of half a dozen things they might have done. 
The Dutch couple sat upon the sand and bewailed their 
misfortunes. 

Angelique tore off her wrappings. The fragrant air 
was delightful after the close cabin. The dawn was 
stirring in the east, the gorgeous tints struggling through 
the gray. There was a little chilliness in the air and they 
huddled closely together, though the sailors dropped 
down on the sand and were soon finishing the nap from 
which they had been aroused. 

Then the sun rode up royally out of the ocean ; that was 
all they could see from the eastward. Angelique stirred, 
lifted her head from Barbe’s arm that had been her pillow, 
and stared about. Endless reaches of sand strewn with 
bits of shells, and here and there a mass of stone jutting 
out, fretting the slow tide. Further up, a line of stunted 
trees stood, green and vivid against the opalescent sky. 
The strange, yet dreary, magnificence sent a shiver over 
her. 

Jaques roused as well, and then the captain suddenly 
sat up. 

“I wonder if we have been left to perish on some 
wretched island !” he exclaimed. “Or it may be a part 
26 


CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


of mainland. My friend, let us stretch our legs and take 
a tour of observation. ,, 

Jaques joined him and they proceeded toward the strip 
of woods. The ground rose perceptibly, and now there 
began to be hummocks of verdure and the white sand 
broken with streaks of earth that had doubtless washed 
down. To the west were clusters of islands, some shining 
in translucent green. Hither - and thither sea birds 
darted, a fish-hawk pounced down upon his prey, but the 
loneliness of sea and sky was intense, and it was a long 
distance to the woods. Still some discovery must be 
made, even if it was to face starvation on a desolate 
island. 

They had slanted in a westerly direction, and when they 
neared the end of the belt they saw quite an island indeed, 
cut of from a larger mainland by a wide channel. 

“If I had a glass,” said the captain. “That looks like 
a settled country over yonder ! And — yes, there are ves- 
sels moving, I am sure. We may put up a flag of dis- 
tress and attract some one.” 

“The women may have something handy. This side 
of the island is more promising, at all events. And see — 
someone has been here, for there are signs of a fire.” 

It was true. In a natural depression in a rock there 
was a sort of fireplace, sheltered alike from wind and 
most rains. And now they could see a long point of the 
island jutting out, forming a sort of bay that might be a 
safe anchorage. They also discovered several battered 
tin utensils. Some one had been in the same plight as 
themselves, or, indeed, it might be a rendezvous for 
piratical expeditions. 

When they returned, their little crew was busy with 
dozens of plans for escape. Barbette had spread a cloth 
on the sand and set out some of the provisions. Gervaise 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


was full of adventure, Angelique serious, and Sylvie 
running gayly about, gathering her skirt full of shells. 

When they had finished their meal they decided to 
follow the captain’s advice, and remove to the more 
promising side of the island. 

“In case of storm we should find a shelter,” he said, 
“and there certainly are some signs of life on the op- 
posite shore. With a glass we could see plainly.” 

“I have a small one in the box,” cried Gervaise. “Yes, 
let us go somewhere. Sitting here watching this great 
ocean would drive one crazy !” 

The sun that had risen so magnificently had retired 
behind pale rose-gray levels, tinged with lavender, droop- 
ing down and growing duller. But it made a pleasant 
under-roof, and all the reaches of sand seemed set with 
grains of silver, rather than the gold of half an hour 
agone. 

They soon started on their march, two of the sailors 
carrying the chest, and others shouldering various boxes 
and bundles. The air blew up fresh; the specks of 
islands about made picturesque breaks in the wide 
expanse of waters. More ' than once they put down 
their burdens. The way seemed much longer than they 
thought, and there was some grumbling. But at 
length the woody fragrance was perceptible ; the greenery 
diffused a certain sense of being once more reunited to 
the living earth. And now the sun was struggling 
through the clouds. It was well they had found such 
a promising place of refuge. 

Sylvie had danced along in eager, childish fashion, 
and sung snatches of songs. Angelique, graver and 
older, lived over the peril, and wondered with Gervaise 
how the pirates had allowed them to escape with so little 
personal molestation. The truth was that they were most 

2a 




CROSSING THE OCEAN. 


anxious to get to their own destination and have the 
Rudersdorp put in trim to prey upon other merchantmen. 
They had learned by experience that honest, well-trained 
sailors were not to be trusted; that they were only too 
ready to listen to mutinous projects, and that their secrets 
were hardly safe if one of them escaped. There were 
enough bold, adventurous men to be picked up almost 
anywhere. 

The first thing was to hang out a flag of distress. 
Barbe supplied the cloth. They tore it in two long strips 
to float out pennantwise, and one of the sailors cut a 
young sapling to which it was firmly attached, and then, 
climbing one of the trees, fastened it securely, making 
it much higher than the adjacent branches. When the 
wind blew it out straight it was quite a sightly object. 

They strained their eyes even with the glass, but, besides 
the islands in the distance, could only see vaguely what 
they believed was the shore-line of some of the Colonial 
States. Between was a wide space of comparatively 
tranquil water. All the afternoon passed, and now there 
would be hunger and thirst to face. Food might be 
obtained, for there seemed fish in plenty, but no springs 
or rills in the sandy soil. 

The half threatening clouds of the day broke into a 
wild, sweeping, tropical shower that hurried out to the 
ocean and was quenched in a brilliant sunset. But it had 
filled the hollows in the rocks and they drank their fill 
with delight, and made their bed under the trees, sleeping 
for very weariness. 

The captain and two of the sailors were up at early 
dawn, but the magnificence of the morning hardly 
touched them. Was that really a sail in the distance? 
So long it seemed stationary that it must be some mirage ; 
and they retraced their weary footsteps, not daring to 
announce their vague hope. 


29 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


After breakfast Gervaise began to stroll up toward the 
northern end of the island, taking both girls with him. 
The captain came out again with the glass. 

“Look up!” cried Gervaise, eagerly. *There, to the 
northeast. I thought at first it must be a flock of gulls. 
Is it — anything?” and he caught his breath, his face pale 
and then red, his eyes strained. 

“It is a vessel of some kind. She is headed this way. 
Yes, she is coming through the strait or channel, what- 
ever it is. I saw it nearly two hours ago, but I dared not 
hope. If she will only see our signal! So do not run 
back, nor say a word. It may be some mistake.” 

Gervaise paused. His first impulse was to fly to the 
little group and announce the news. He held out his 
hand for the glass. 

“I doubt if your eyes are better than mine, young sir,” 
and there was a kind of desperate hopefulness in his 
tone. 

“But she is coming this way !” The lad’s voice broke 
with emotion. “Oh, yes, I can see plainly. And the wind 
is fair for her. Oh, if our signal was only up this 
end ” 

“Run and ask some of the sailors to bring it. We 
must not miss any chance.” 

It was not only the signal and the needed help, but the 
whole company followed. And now that the light at- 
mosphere hovering about cleared away, she could be seen 
with the unaided eye. How they watched ! What breath- 
less, wordless prayers went up to the blue vault above 
them! It seemed hours, so slowly did the minutes pass. 
The pennant flew out bravely. The vessel came straight 
on. At last there was the thrice-welcome sound of the 
trumpet. Madame Ten Broeck threw herself on the 
ground and cried hysterically ; Angelique hid her face on 
30 


OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Barbe’s shoulder. There was a strange silence through 
the little group for many moments, a sense of relief that 
had no words, needed none. They were surely rescued ! 

The Mary Ann, stout and seaworthy, with a miscel- 
laneous cargo, was bound for New Orleans. Captain 
Strong listened to the story of the wayfarers, and took 
them on board, every heart full of thanksgiving, for they 
knew now it might have been many days before another 
vessel would come that way. 


CHAPTER III. 

OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

Across the blue waters of the Gulf the rescued 
travellers sped. Lakes and bays, and points and islands, 
and the low-lying banks of the yellow Mississippi with 
craft of all kinds, at that day flat-bottomed boats and 
sailing vessels, and a strange sound of many languages, 
a jumble of nationalities as if all the world had poured 
their overflow into this one spot. Africans of various 
hues, swarthy Portuguese, Spanish, French, Indians, and 
Americans — a bewildering sight to the French emigrants, 
who shrank together with a lost, homeless feeling. 

The straggling rows of long black rafts, with short 
paddles at the sides that projected like fins, and one long 
oar at the stern, piled high with fruit, vegetables, 
poultry, and pork ; other and more pretentious craft with 
barrels of flour, cotton, which even then was a source of 
profit, though still in its infancy, and other bales of 
merchandise — a feature of the fast growing development 
and commercial enterprise that was to make a famous 


3i 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


city later on, but seemed now one vast jumble, after 
orderly Amsterdam. 

The Mary Ann was safely moored. There were some 
troublesome preliminaries to be gone through with. 
And now the sun was slanting low in the western 
heavens, losing itself behind the great mountains still to 
be explored, and the river began to gleam like a sinuous 
golden band between the verdurous shores. Then a cold 
wind blew up from the Gulf, and the convent bells began 
to chime. How soft and sweet it sounded! — the call 
to vespers. Suddenly an army of flags were run up to 
the masthead, colors of many nations. 

“Oh, how beautiful it all is! And look at the bowed 
heads! It makes one almost envy the Catholics, 1 ” ex- 
claimed Angelique, deeply touched. 

It did seem wonderful that among that bedlam of din 
there should be an instant halt and reverence. Men and 
women crossed themselves, responded softly; then the 
labor of life went on like a great ocean wave rolling 
back. 

“It is a marvellous sight,” replied Gervaise, as his eyes 
wandered slowly about. “One can hardly believe it 
real.” 

Sylvie had tight hold of Angelique’s hand. 

“Oh, look at the little black children,” she cried, breath- 
lessly. “Are they the Indians? And what makes their 
hair grow in little tails ? And see those dancing ! O that 
cruel man, to strike them with his lash !” 

A man with a broad-brimmed hat and a long horse- 
whip in his hand had scattered a group of merry 
youngsters that made the air resound with their howls 
and cries. He was clearing a way in the muddy street 
for his wagon. 

Captain Strong came up to them. 

32 


OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“You will not care to stay all night on the boat in the 
noise and the smell of everything. Your boxes will be 
safe in the cabin. You may lock it in and take the key. 
Neither will you like the lodging house; that is well 
enough for the men. I will send someone with you 
where you will be comfortable for the night. It is a 
Madame Milhet in Dauphine Street, something of a walk, 
but a nice, quiet place/’ 

“We shall not stay here, Monsieur Strong. We shall 
push on — to some place,” and Barbe knitted her brows 
a little. “Yes, we shall be glad of a refuge to-night. 
And you have been so good, Monsieur.” 

“Who wouldn’t be good, as you call it, to such un- 
fortunate castaways! But then — I have heard worse 
pirate stories than yours. And I don’t see how your 
young girl escaped their clutches, even by playing off 
ill,” and a quizzical sort of smile crossed his weather- 
beaten face. “Yes, you have much to be thankful for.” 

“We are, M’sieur,” and she bowed her head. 

“Mere Milhet will be very good to you. She is 
French, not Spanish nor mixed,” and he laughed a little, 
thinking how proud and tenacious these French people 
were! Already American blood began to show the 
peculiar cosmopolitanism that was to make them at ease 
with all nations, while not less proud of their birthright. 

One of the sailors was deputed to accompany them. 
They left the boat, walking over the long gang-plank 
that was like a raft, and picking a way through bales and 
boxes and barrels, and a swarming crowd that set Bar- 
bette almost wild with terror. She had Angelique by 
the arm, while Jaques picked up Sylvie, who clasped 
her arms tightly about his neck. The streets were narrow 
and muddy, and gutters were full of ill-smelling, stagnant 
water. There were scarcely no sidewalks. Booths and 

33 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

stores were closing for the night. There were rows of 
low houses, blackened by exposure to the weather and 
the indifference of their owners. It was growing rapidly 
dark, but here and there a light flared in a window, and 
there were sounds of mirth and revelry and wild French 
songs. Negresses thrust flowers in their faces, or from 
some corner cried hot eatables from which came a savory 
smell. 

Presently the crowd grew less, the houses wore a dif- 
ferent aspect. In some, where the heavy wooden shut- 
ters stood ajar, there were signs of home life and gay 
voices chattering. Then they turned into Dauphine Street, 
and here another change met them. The houses were 
detached; there were gardens and trees between, the air 
was fragrant with the sweetness that nightfall wooed 
from leaf and blossom. Most of the houses had an 
upper story with an overhanging balcony, vine-wreathed, 
and reviving one with its delicious odor. 

The man paused before a heavy batten door, with a 
fanlight above, guarded by iron bars. On one side was 
a heavy iron knocker, and this made the street resound 
with the force of his summons. 

A head looked out from above. “Who is there, and 
what is it you want?” asked a woman’s voice, in rather 
broken English. 

“It is Jack Dubois. I come from Captain Strong, who 
is just in. He begs you to take some French refugees 
for the night. They were caught by pirates and barely 
escaped by the skin of their teeth. He will answer for 
them.” 

“I will come down.” 

“The heavy bolt was pulled. The door was opened 
cautiously, as if still half in fear. 

“Oh, it is all right, Mere Milhet. The captain picked 
34 


OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


them up on an island where they had been set ashore. 
And he says you are not to be afraid. He had them two 
days.” 

The door opened wider. There was a sort of square 
vestibule, shut off by another strong door. Mere Milhet 
had hung her candle in the sconce at the side, but it 
hardly lighted the dark walls, that were of cypress wood, 
grown deeper by age. 

“There are many of you,” she said, with a little hesita- 
tion. “But Captain Strong is my very good friend. 
Yes, come in, Madame, M’sieu — ah, the petite dar- 
ling ” and she looked from one to the other of the 

women as if to trace relationship, as Gervaise stood Sylvie 
down on the stone floor. 

Barbette explained at a little length in French, inter- 
rupted now and then by Mere Milhet’s ejaculations. 

“Well, now that I have done my duty, I will report 
to the captain,” said their guide. “Some one will come 
for them in the morning ” 

“Why not find my own way down?” exclaimed 
Gervaise in eager tones. “Yes, Jaques and I will see 
to the luggage — what is left of it,” with a touch of irony 
in his tone. 

“Well, well, as you like.” The man touched his cap 
with his adieu. 

Mere Milhet led the way to the inner room, that was 
quite well furnished and spacious. A long wooden settee 
had a mattress covered with gay chintz and some 
cushions at either end. 

“Ah, what you must have endured !” she began. “The 
Gulf is infested with pirates who rendezvous in the 
islands about. And there are the privateers, little better, 
perhaps. Why must they prey on each other like wild 
beasts? There would be work enough; there is land to 

35 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


settle, but they take the goods of others continually. 
And there are horrible stories told — but . you must be 
tired and need refreshment. Lucie, Dolomine, get 
ready the table ! Will you follow me upstairs ?” — to her 
guests. 

There were two side ells to the house, which left a sort 
of courtyard at the back, before the real garden began. 
Flowers and vines grew about everywhere, adding a 
hundred fragrances to the soft, clear air, so different 
from the sickening smells of the levee. In one ell was a 
large, long room with three single pallets in a row, each 
one covered with a snowy white quilt. The floor was 
bare, but scrubbed until it almost shone. Two or three 
queer old pieces of furniture, half desks and chests of 
drawers, an iron-bound, massive chest, several antique 
chairs, and a shelf on which stood a pair of odd pitchers 
and some silver candlesticks. On either side of the 
dressing-table hung an iron sconce. Madame lighted the 
candles. 

“I can hardly tell — you are not the mother of both?” 
glancing inquiringly at Barbette. 

“I must be mother to both now. This young girl, 
Angelique Saucier, has been orphaned from early years. 
Her relative, the Marquise de Brienne, took her. The 
little one was also related to Madame, on her mother’s side, 
and I was foster sister to her mother — the lovely young 
girl whose husband was killed in the war with Spain, and 
she soon followed him with a broken heart. The Mar- 
quise sent for Sylvie and myself, and we all lived in the 
old chateau. The Sieur Hugh came to Canada three 
years ago, and we have not heard from him of late. The 
Marquise fell ill with a lingering complaint. Nearly a 
year ago she died. And there was trouble in France ” 

“Horrible trouble! The Spanish are our masters, 
36 


OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Madame, but we do not forget we are French. The 
poor King and Queen! And now, Madame, no one is 
safe. It is frightful ! People being rushed to the 
guillotine every day, innocent of any crime. What are 
these fiends? Surely they cannot be French. It must 
be some wild rabble that has descended upon them as 
did the Huns. There are emigrants coming all the time, 
glad to escape. They will build a new France. Even 
here — then, Madame, is it your pleasure to remain with 
your charges ?” suddenly bringing herself back to her 
duties as hostess. “There is water and towels for re- 
freshment. And now I will provide for the gentlemen. ,, 

They were placed in the other wing, and were most 
grateful for so delightful a refuge. 

Sylvie ran to the window and peered out in the 
darkness. 

“It is like Brienne!” she cried, delightedly. “It is so 

sweet, and hark ” putting her dainty head on one 

side, “Music!” 

There was the tinkle of a guitar and a curious ac- 
companiment of a banjo that deepened the melody in 
several places. Then a soft, clear voice broke into song. 

“Oh, it is delightful! Barbe, I want to stay here 
always. I hate the ocean and the ships. I will never 
go in one again with the nasty, watery smell. And here 
it is so sweet ! See, there are stars coming out. There 
is a great golden one hanging down low. And the 
beautiful singing! Angel, why do you not sing any 
more ?” 

Angelique gave a short, unmirthful laugh. 

“One must be gay to sing,- and we have been so full 
of care ” 

“But you did sing for Captain Bolmer.” 

“And the pirates never asked me for a song.” 

37 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“You were ill in the berth. That is why I will not go 
sailing any more. Are there pirates all over ?” 

“Oh, I hope not, my little dear.” 

“Are we very far from France?” 

“Thousands of miles.” 

“And shall I never see Philippe again?” mournfully. 
“And my beautiful doll ! You know I was going to ask 
Philippe to marry her.” 

A tall negress in a gay turban announced that supper 
was in readiness. 

They had bathed hands and faces and felt a little 
restored, but to Barbe it seemed as if she had never been 
clean since leaving Amsterdam. 

But the snowy cloth, the fragrant tea, the great piles 
of tropical fruit, and the generous elbow-room were en- 
chanting. Mina — this tall negress who carried herself 
like a queen was called Dolomine — waited upon them in 
a royal fashion. The lines of caste had been so broken 
in upon that they all sat down together. Barbette 
Champe was grave and well-bred enough for any lady, 
and though Jaques had hesitated at first upon putting 
himself on an equality with his young master, who might 
one day be lord of Brienne, dangers had brought them 
into close relationship as friends. 

Madame Milhet answered many of Gervaise’s ques- 
tions about New Orleans. It was plain to be seen that 
she did not love the Spanish domination. 

“Ah, M’sieu, we were basely sold to Spain by our own 
King,” the hostess said, with a long sigh. “People did 
explain that by force of war and treaty the King was 
compelled to give us up. At first we did not believe it. 
We were French to our heart’s core, although there were 
many Spanish even then. So a great meeting was called 
at Place d’Armes. Planters and merchants and gentle- 

38 


OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


men, and even the small farmers, arranged to appeal to the 
King. For it was rumored that with the coming of 
Spanish rule there would be a looking forward to the 
establishment of an inquisitor general here. My hus- 
band’s cousin, who was a rich merchant, was sent to 
Paris to plead for a restoration of the old relations. 
Then we waited and waited. Jean Milhet never saw the 
King — there was so much chicanery. Then came Don 
Antonio de Ulloa, the new Spanish Governor, and up 
went Spanish flags. The commerce with France and 
the West Indies was suppressed. There was talk of 
ruin everywhere. The French resolved to rise. Per- 
haps it was not wisely done, but some of us had a hope 
of founding a new French kingdom, or colony of some 
kind, that should be independent. What right had the 
King to trade us off?” 

Mere Milhet was past sixty now. With years she had 
grown to ample proportions. Her eyes were black and 
sparkling when she was excited, but, with the general 
softening effect of time, they too had softened in repose. 
Her dark olive skin was clear, her features quite regular, 
though the nose had broadened out a little. Her cheeks 
still had a girlish pink, unless the infrequent indulgence 
in temper flamed them to a vivid red. 

“Was it the King — really ? That was Louis XV.” * 

“Yes. They barricaded the Governor’s house. They 
ran up the French flag, they filled the air with shouts for 
the King, and enjoined the Governor to leave the colony 
at once. Then they sent messengers to the courts of 
France and Spain. The plan for a republic was formed. 
If we had possessed wise and far-sighted men like the 
American colonies when they made their brave struggle, 
— but, perhaps it was too soon. It was in July ’69 that 
the Spaniards reached our great river in overwhelming 

39 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


force. Everybody was filled with dismay. Don Alex- 
andra O’Reilly, with twenty-six hundred troops, landed 
and took formal possession in the name of the King of 
Spain.” 

“But I would have fought to the death !” cried the boy, 
interested beyond measure. “Did they not even strike 
one blow ?” 

“My husband thought it was because they had no 
responsible head that they had temporized too long. 
Clearly resistance would have been useless. The brave 
Lafreniere made a manly address and proffered the 
homage of the people. But it was of no avail. He and 
many of the other leaders were arrested and sentenced 
to be hanged, but even the Spanish officials joined the 
colonists in beseeching that they might at least have a 
more honorable death. Lafreniere, Doyan, Caresse, 
Joseph Milhet, and Marquis were shot ; most of the others 
were sent to Morro Castle, Havana, and when they 
were released they were expatriated from Louisiana. 
The old Council was swept away; the Cabilda took its 
place. Then there were new offices made, and there was 
great pomp and ceremony attending them. But O’Reilly 
did not remain long. And then it was Uuzaga, and the 
new Spanish priests who tried to banish our good Father 
Dagobert. And the nuns’ schools were to teach Spanish, 
but they could not take from us our beloved French 
tongue with all their efforts. And, after all, O’Reilly 
was but a mongrel — not even a true Spaniard. But it 
is said, after his cruelty, he was excessively polite and 
urbane, and very fond of high society.” 

“Then you are not really French at all?” 

“Except in heart and soul, M’sieu. And some of us 
cherish a hope — but strange things happen in the world 
now.” 


40 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


“And France has no king. Oh, what will become of 
her!” 

“I have faith in France,” Mere Milhet said, proudly. 

Sylvie came around and leaned her golden head on 
Barbe’s shoulder, her eyes almost closed. 

“I am so sleepy,” she murmured. 

“The poor child ! And you are all tired ! I have talked 
twice too long.” 

“And I have not heard half enough. I am interested 
in your strange New Orleans,” declared Gervaise. 

Barbe took her charge upstairs and undressed her, 
and the little girl slept soundly among the fragrant roses. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SYLVIE AND LAURE. 

“Oh, where are we?” cried Sylvie, springing from her 
narrow bed. “Barbe — Angel ! — did we leave the boat 
last night and have such a delicious supper, and was there 
some one who talked — and a tall black woman — or was 
I dreaming? I was so tired and sleepy. Oh yes, here 
is the window and the vines — and here is a wonderful 
bird, and look at the trees, and the roses and flowers that 
I do not know about. Is it really New Orleans? And 
where is the rest of America ?” 

Angelique laughed at the child’s eargerness. She, too, 
felt refreshed. 

There was a tap at the door. Sylvie ran. 

“Oh, here is a great bucket of water,” she exclaimed. 
“Did it drop down from the clouds, think ?” 

4i 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

“Doesn’t water generally drop down from the clouds ?” 
queried Angelique. 

“But not by the bucketful.” 

“Well, I am not so sure about that; I have seen it 
come down in torrents,” said Barbe. 

“But there wasn’t any bucket unless you set one out 
to catch the water,” returned the child, archly. 

“Come and let me make your toilette. It is so long 
since we have lived in any Christian fashion.” 

“It seems years and years since we left Brienne,” and 
Angelique gave a little sigh, not that she wished herself 
back. And yet those last days were so strange that she 
continually asked herself if the events had really taken 
place? Was Hugh de Brienne truly and lawfully 
married ? 

Sylvie looked fresh as a rose. She ran downstairs 
without waiting to ask whether it was right or not. In 
fact, she seemed like a bird suddenly released. A big girl 
she had not seen the night before was filling vases with 
flowers. She was not dark like the other women, and 
she wore no turban, though a great coil of braids was 
wound over the top of her head. 

“So,” she began in pretty French, curiously softened, 
“you are the little girl who was taken by pirates? And 
you come from France?” 

“Yes, and from many other places. I think I must 
have been nearly all round the world.” 

“But it is a very big world. And there are great 
cities and kingdoms over East. The Americans have one, 
though they began by calling their king a president. 
That is all wrong. And they have the queer English 
language, which is barbarous. Then, the~English drove 
us out of Canada. I hate them !” 


42 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


She stamped her foot and her eyes flashed. 

Sylvie look amazed. 

“It was my mother’s people. We were Acadians. 
And France had so much of this New World! It was 
New France; it would have been a splendid world, and 
no barbarous talk but the Indians’. They had no right 
to come and drive us out — send us away from the homes 
we had made.” 

“Oh,” cried Sylvie, “then we are something alike. I 
left the old France. I don’t know why — it was because” 
— her small brow knitted with thought — “we were to be 
taken to a convent, I believe.” 

“Oh, I was not born then. And my mother married 
and died. And my father went away somewhere, and 
has not come back. Mere Pichard had me and she beat 
and starved me, and I ran away. Then Nannete took 
me. She is a free woman and keeps a cake shop down 
by the wharf. It was not good for me, and Mere Milhet 
took me. But I think I shall become a nun. I go to 
school at the convent. I like the Sisters.” 

“Then you are a Catholic?” 

“A Catholic of course. What should I be? There is 
only one true Church.” 

“And I am a — a Huguenot.” Sylvie held up her head 
very straight, though she had a faint misgiving as to 
whether she was on the true side. 

The girl shook her head doubtfully. “I will ask at 
the convent ; the Sisters must know. You are too pretty 
to be a — to be an infidel! And French, too, although 
you talk not quite like us, a little more strong — harsh, 
that is it. Now I must finish my flowers. Mere Milhet 
will soon be home from mass, and then breakfast, and I 
go to the convent, where I stay all day.” 

43 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


She darted off, but Sylvie followed her. “Oh!” the 
child ejaculated, stopping suddenly as something blue 
and glistening and beautiful rose before her. 

“That is the heron. Oh, he is tame enough. Come, 
Piti. But I have no crumbs for you. Let the little girl 
stroke your neck. Your name is Sylvie?” 

“How did you know?” with a bright smile. 

“I heard them talking of you this morning. I had 
broken a rule yesterday and I had to say ten pater nosters 
by myself in the dark and then go to bed. So I did not 
see you. Stroke his neck, Sylvie. Piti Patty, this is a 
nice little girl.” 

“Oh, what a funny name !” Sylvie put her small hand 
half fearfully on the bird’s beautiful neck that seemed 
to change to every shade of blue. 

“When he was little, Mini found him with a broken 
leg. She set it, and when he began to go about on the 
bare floor he went pit-a-pat in such a queer way. Sylvie 
will give you some crumbs after breakfast. Then he 
will love you and follow you about.” 

“I don’t know your name,” Sylvie said, half bashfully. 

“It is Laure Gorgas. When I become a nun I shall 
have a grand new name. It will be Annunziata, or 
Angelique or Veronique.” 

“Oh, Angelique is my cousin’s name.” 

“And the young man — is he her brother or yours?” 

“No, he is a cousin, too.” 

“He is very handsome. He was walking in the 
garden. I wish I had a t cousin like that. I have no 
one,” with a longing, regretful intonation. 

“Oh, I am so sorry for you,” cried Sylvie, sympa- 
thetically. 

“And his name — is it a pretty one?” 

“It is Gervaise Aubreton.” 


44 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


Laure nodded. “But I think I like Henri better. 
Hortense de Longpre has a brother Henri. He is 
handsome too, and has such a sweet voice. Oh, what 
am I saying? I must not talk about young men. Pere 
Moras will give me a penance. ,, 

“What is a penance ? Susanne, at Brienne, used to talk 
of them. They are something bad — a punishment. But 
I would not like to be punished for talking of Gervaise. 
And Captain Strong was so good.” 

“That is different when they belong to you.” 

Laure had been snipping off an armful of flowers. 
Sylvie and the heron followed. Just as they passed by 
a waving cypress-tree, Gervaise met them. 

“This is Laure,” said the child, with a graceful turn of 
the hand. “And this is my Cousin Gervaise.” 

Laure turned red and her eyes drooped. Sylvie’s 
cheek was suddenly scarlet as well, and she glanced 
timidly up to Gervaise, who was praising the garden and 
the flowers. Now the girl turned into a wider walk 
that led straight up to the broad sort of porch covered 
with a latticework of vines that made the entrance to the 
breakfast room, where Lucie, who was almost as fair as 
Laure, but had crispy, waving hair, was arranging the 
table. 

“Laure! Laure!” said the voice of Mere Milhet, 
sharply. “Where have you been loitering so? The 
flowers should have been done long ago.” 

Mere Milhet had an odd little cap on her head, her 
prayer-book and her beads in her hand. 

“The little girl came out into the garden and I could 
not hurry as usual. She asked mo so many things. 
And about Piti. She was afraid at first.” 

Gervaise had fallen back ; Sylvie stood uncertain. 

“Go about your business,” said Madame, peremptorily. 

45 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Sylvie caught her hand. “Oh, Madame, do not scold 
her,” she pleaded in a soft tone. “It was so nice to find 
her in the beautiful garden. It seems a little like Brienne, 
only smaller and more flowers, I think. And there were 
great woods.” 

“There are great woods all about here too, and further 
north, forests impenetrable. Over to the westward no 
one knows, but it is said to be a land of gold.” 

“I should not like to live always on the ocean,” said 
Sylvie, irrelevantly. “There are no flowers and birds, 
and nothing to walk on but the deck of the ship that rolls 
so it tires one’s feet. I like this strange city. I wonder 
if we cannot live here always ?” 

Madame smiled. “Thou art a dear little girl,” she 
said, with emotion. “And I am glad you like our city.” 

“And Piti — could I have a crumb of bread for him ?” 

“Oh, yes. Lucie, bring hither some bread. Why, he 
is already acquainted with you,” smiling in a gratified 
way. 

“There were swans at Dessiers. I used to feed them 
with Philippe. And we had a great peacock, with such a 
beautiful tail ! Only he was cross and would not spread 
it when you bade him ; no, not even for bread, which he 
would snatch out of your hand and run away.” 

Lucie brought the bread, and Piti’s manners were 
admirable. He rubbed his neck on the little hand as if 
in acknowledgment. Gervaise came forward and wished 
Madame a polite good-morning, and Dolomine appeared 
to announce that breakfast was waiting and the ladies 
ready. 

“I was detained a little. There was a very poor 
woman, with some children, whose husband went over 
into the colonies, and she had heard nothing from him. 
They know not where to go. Good Father Charlier took 
46 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


them in hand. Good-morning ladies,” as the two guests 
entered the breakfast-room “Excuse me one moment.” 

She laid her beads and her prayer-book in a drawer, 
took off her cap, and put on a lace head-dress. Her hair 
was beginning to be plentifully sprinkled with white, 
and the cordiality in her face was most attractive. It 
seemed very homelike to the travellers after all their 
adventures, and the softened French fell on their ears 
like music. And oh, the fragrance of the flowers every- 
where; the vista of the garden, where the sun seemed to 
make a shower of golden drops and quivers through the 
trees. 

The breakfast was certainly delicious. They asked 
questions of Madame and learned many things about the 
quaint old town — old even then, more than a century ago 
— whose vicissitudes had been many, and which would 
always remain among the most picturesque of cities. 
True, the great fire in 1788 had swept away many of the 
quaint, ancient frame houses and left rubbish heaps and 
poverty behind. Streets had been widened a little, and 
better built. But before that, had been the terrible 
hurricane which had blown down the first Charity Hos- 
pital, endowed by the savings of a noble-hearted dying 
sailor, Jean Louis, who had donated his few thousand 
livres. And then had come to the fore Don Andreas 
Almonaster, who replaced it with a commodious brick 
edifice that later on was to be one of the landmarks of the 
city. And then he had built the chapel for the Ursuline 
Convent and the school, where the Sisters vainly tried to 
establish the Spanish tongue and Spanish methods 
stricter than the French, that had been inaugurated by 
Father Cirilo, who was amazed at the lax methods of 
good Father Dagobert, who was gentle of heart, and who 
went out to marry and christen and bury with great 

47 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


love and simplicity, and who joined in their pleasures 
and confessed the women with the admonition of the 
Saviour. 

The new dwelling-houses took on a spirit of grandeur 
as well, and the Spanish manner, grandiose and rather 
ponderous, assumed an air of state that was bitterness to 
many of the older French settlers. For the Spaniards 
were obstinate and proud, and owned everything, whether 
for weal or woe; and the French were still dreaming of 
a time when the invader should be driven out and they 
come back to the birthright that DTberville, Bienville, and 
La Salle had given them. For had not the Sieur Le 
Blond de la Tour driven stakes and drawn lines, marked 
off streets and named them Orleans and Chartres, Bour- 
bon and Conde and Toulouse? 

And in spite of grander improvements, there were still 
old streets of foreign and antique aspect, narrow, with 
their overhanging second-story balconies, while the lower 
story looked almost prison-like, except where it opened 
on the secluded garden with its wealth of shrubbery, its 
magnificent trees, its allees bordered with flowers and 
tropical plants. 

“What were they to do?” the travellers asked each 
other. The little luggage saved from the wreck must be 
brought from the Mary Ann, for she expected to load 
and go out again. 

“Why not bring them here ?” said Mere Milhet, out of 
her kindly heart. “Then you can look about ” 

“But we shall not remain here,” declared Barbette, 
glancing at Gervaise, who, for the present, was head of 
the family. 

“I must find my way about this great land and learn 
where it is best to go to begin our search. For, if we 

48 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


cannot find my cousin Hugh, then I think all places will 
be alike until we go back to France.” 

“But I do not want to go back,” declared Sylvie. “I 
want to stay here. I hate to live on a ship and be taken 
by pirates.” 

“They may leave thee behind, petite. Thou wilt not 
lack for care nor love, I think. Thy sweet face and 
voice will win thee both,” and Madame smiled. 

Barbette had meant to accompany them, but they 
overruled her desire. Gervaise and Jaques could attend 
to everything. So the ladies sent many thanks to the 
good captain, with instructions to pay him well, since 
they had been so fortunate in not losing their treasures. 

They went out in the garden when the men were gone. 
Beside Pit-a-pat there was a magnificent striped tiger 
cat, with sleepy, yellow eyes, who was used to much 
petting. Mere Milhet brought some needlework, and 
entertained her guests with old stories of the city, to which 
Angelique listened with the greatest interest. What 
romance centred about the old town, for it did indeed 
seem strangely old, when one considered the dead and 
gone heroes planting it in a virgin forest! All the rest 
of the American continent Mere Milhet spoke of dis- 
dainfully. To her there was but one city. 

It was noon when the men returned with a funny little 
wagon drawn by a mule. But all their luggage was safe, 
except one chest of clothing and bedding that could not 
be taken on the boat, while the numberless boxes of the 
good Dutch vrou in company with that were left in the 
hands of the pirates, and she remained inconsolable. 

The Ten Broecks had found a vessel going to Mobile 
from whence they could ship to New York. Already 
every sailor had obtained employment. Captain Bolmer 

49 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


would go to New York. Captain Strong was to sail as 
soon as his cargo of cotton could be loaded, but he would 
give himself the pleasure of calling on the ladies after 
sunset, and thanking his good friend, Mere Milhet, for 
her kindness. 

“No, no/’ with a shake of the head. “I am glad it so 
happened. M’sieu, the captain, has been very good to 
me; while I like not the grasping Americans, he is not 
of their kind, but a fair and honorable man.” 

Mere Milhet did not think it necessary to explain even 
to her priest that there were sundry little ventures in 
which the Spanish Government was overreached. There 
was much quiet smuggling to outside ports as well as up 
and down the river. Madame called it turning an honest 
penny. But both kept their own counsel. 

Gervaise had added largely to his stock of knowledge 
during the morning. First, that New Orleans was a 
curiously thriving town and that it seemed to have 
gathered to itself many different peoples. Already 
French refugees were flocking hither, warmly welcomed 
by Carondelet, who had also opened the ports to Ameri- 
can trade. And though about the levees and wharves the 
sights and sounds and commotion seemed almost like 
warfare, the volume of business was astounding. Abreast 
of the town lay the real shipping, and, farther on, the 
government warehouses, and the vessels of war that 
bristled with their armament, powerful in that day. The 
streets from the Place d’Armes were fairly straight and 
comparatively spacious, if poorly lighted at night by a 
royal lantern at some of the chief corners. Already there 
were cotton and sugar, which had a romantic history; 
flour, rice, still some indigo, lumber, tobacco, corn, pork 
and hams, hides, and, at certain seasons, fine peltries 
brought in largely by Indian hunters from the wilder- 
50 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


ness up above — everything teeming with activity and 
possible fortunes. 

The Spaniards had taken mostly to the military and 
government service. Englishmen, Irish, Americans and 
French composed the commercial classes, while the 
Creole, handsome, suave and elegant in manner if de- 
fective in education, relegating labor to the slave and 
business to underlings, lending money, renting farms and 
plantations, full of pleasure and gayety, but adding im- 
measurably to the interesting aspects of the town. 

“And why not stay here for the present ?” asked 
Gervaise, enthusiastically. “Why should we all go on 
this hunt for Cousin Hugh? It is now a full year and 
a half since his last letter, which was to me, that he had 
joined an expedition to Detroit, which is somewhere on 
the great chain of lakes. Sylvie and Angelique could 
hardly endure the inconvenience of such travel. I was 
asking Captain Strong, and he says by all means go by 
myself. He will talk about it to-night.” 

“But you do not think that Hugh ” Angelique’s 

breath came with a pang and a gasp. It always did when 
she faced the possibility of Hugh’s death. 

“He may have written to Brienne. I feel curiously 
confident that I shall find him somewhere. There is a 
spirit of adventure in the very air here. Why a hundred 
years at Brienne would hardly have the incidents I have 
heard this one morning.” 

Gervaise Aubreton seemed to have grown taller and 
more manly. Perhaps no one had kept note of the year’s 
changes, the responsibilities that brought him out of 
joyous boyhood, and given him forethought, courage, and 
the sudden aspiration for a more stirring life. And only 
this morning he had been hearing of the awful terror that 
had stalked through Paris, of the sweeping conscription, 
of the wars on every side. 


5i 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“And you would go alone?” Barbette asked the ques- 
tion with terrified eyes. 

“Jaques must remain here to watch over you. We 
have enough to provide a home, and there is the sum left 
at Amsterdam. Yes, of course I should go alone,” with 
a manly air. 

Barbette felt relieved and yet anxious. Why should 
they not remain here ? 

“Where are you going, Gervaise?” Sylvie asked as 
they walked up and down the garden. 

“Nowhere at present, dear.” 

“Oh, I thought — and you were talking to Barbette. 
Gervaise, I do not want you to go away.” 

She slipped her small hand in his and glanced up with 
beseeching eyes. 

“There are many things to do, dear. And now I think 
we must have a home. I like this beautiful old town. 
We will go out and walk around it and find some pretty 
place.” 

“Oh, that will be delightful, Gervaise ” there was a 

plaintive, beseeching sound in her voice. 

“What is it, dear?” 

“Gervaise — I love you,” with a child’s simplicity. 

“And I love you, sweet little blossom.” 

He caught her in his arms and kissed her. 

“Gervaise,” with a slow lingering, as if it was sweet 
to say over his name, “I am your little wife, am I not? 
And when I grow to be a big woman I will have a new 
wedding gown and veil and not be married by a priest? 
Why are we Huguenots? And Laure said this morn- 
ing there was only one true Church.” 

“You cannot understand — you are so young. You will 
be taught all these things by and by.” 

And would that marriage ceremony have to be ex- 
52 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


plained, or would she grow into the knowledge by slow 
degrees ? What if ? 

“Come, let us go and find Piti and Baby. But I think 
Baby has outgrown her name.” 

“And I want a tame blue heron in our house. Piti is 
so wise and funny. Where will our house be — not very 
far away? — so I can come and see Mere Milhet, who is 
so good. And Laure. Must I go to the convent to 
school ?” 

“Oh, I think not. I do not know about schools. But 
you must learn Spanish and English ; I am going to learn 
English at once. ,, 

Then Laure came home, and Mere Milhet said they 
might play for a while in the garden. 

“Had Laure any doll 

“Dolls are foolish,” said Laure, “unless it is a saint that 
you have out only on holidays. Zenobie has a great big 
beautiful one. It is Saint Elizabeth.” 

“And who is Zenobie?” 

“Oh, she is a rich girl. Zenobie Lavalette. She has 
everything — silk frocks, and pearls in her earrings. Her 
father is a sugar-planter. She will not have to be a nun, 
for she can get her pick of husbands.” 

“Then I need not be a nun,” said Sylvie. 

“Oh, you would have to be a Catholic first. And I 
suppose you are pretty enough to get a husband. Then, 
if you have some dowry ” 

“Am I very pretty?” asked Sylvie, with charming 
naivete. 

Laure looked intently at her. 

“You are prettier than Zenobie — yes. Your hair is 
like golden silk, and Zenobie’s is brown and straight. But 
she is glad of straight hair and her people are Spanish. 
She is very proud of that. The negroes and the quad- 

53 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

roons have curly hair, but it is black. And your skin is 
so fair. Zenobie is older than you — ten years old. She 
sings like an angel.” 

Sylvie was very glad to have some one say she was 
beautiful. Gervaise would care more for her, since 
beautiful people were readily loved. 

“Angelique sings beautifully, too. She used to sing 
to the Marquise.” 

“What Marquise?” asked the girl, abruptly. 

“The Marquise de Brienne. We lived at Brienne 
when we were in France. It is not very far from Paris, 
and has such beautiful woods. She was Angelique’s 
aunt, and Gervaise’s, yes, and I think mine, too. She 
was always ill, and sometimes used to scream with pain. 
And then she died. She was Hugh’s mother, and the 
Sieur Hugh is somewhere here in America. We came 
to find him.” 

Laure simply stared. She was exulting in the budget 
of news she would have to-morrow, about a little girl 
whose aunt was a marquise. 

“Did you have a nice run?” asked Mere Milhet as they 
came in. 

“Oh, delightful, Madame,” answered Laure, while 
Sylvie stared. They had not run at all, but sat on a bench 
and talked. 

And Laure, remembering this when she said her 
prayers at night, beat her breast and wept, wondering 
why it should be so easy to say things that were not true. 
They slipped out before one thought. But if she took a 
penance on herself perhaps she need not tell Pere Morasi 
There were so many things to confess. When she was a 
real nun she would not commit any of these sins. What 
was it that kept one so safe? And yet — with a long 
sigh — she could not have a lover and marry. 

54 


SYLVIE AND LAURE. 


Sylvie was so sleepy that she wanted to go to bed im- 
mediately after supper. So she knew nothing of the talk, 
but if the casting vote had been hers, it would not have 
interfered with the resolves. 

To remain in New Orleans seemed quite the best thing. 
They must find a house, though Mere Milhet said there 
need be no hurry, they were welcome to stay until matters 
were settled to their satisfaction. She was enjoying her 
guests very much, and thanked the captain for his fore- 
thought. 

“Then/’ he said, “I may see you all again. Give my 
best regards to the little one, and next time I come I 
shall provide myself with some gift for her. It is not 
good-by, but just a farewell.” 

Sylvie sat up in her little bed the next morning. 
A bird at the window was pouring forth a flood of 
melody. Barbette was combing and braiding her hair. 

“Barbe, I want to stay in New Orleans always. I am 
going to learn Spanish — Gervaise said I ought.” 

“Yes, we are going to stay. It was decided last 
night,” answered Barbe. 

Sylvie sprang out of bed and pirouetted round the 
room. 

“What are you doing?” demanded Angelique. 

“Giving thanks,” and Sylvie laughed. “Because I am 
glad from head to foot.” 


55 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


CHAPTER V. 

IIOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 

Gervaise Aubreton went wild over the romance of 
old New Orleans. He had not known much about Paris, 
For two years he had been in a Huguenot school, very 
quiet and retired, for though in a certain fashion France 
was much more liberal than Spain, and some of the old 
Huguenot families had managed to keep their estates, 
their standing was not always secure. They preferred 
quiet, and to remain unnoticed. 

Hugh de Brienne had been seized with an explorer’s 
fancy. The marvellous stories of the New World, the 
fortunes and adventures of several acquaintances who 
had gone thither, contrasted with the vapid life at home, 
induced him to spend a few years at least in America. 
The grand struggle the colonies had made for self-gov- 
ernment was astonishing to him. When he left Brienne 
his mother bade fair to live years. She was a proud, 
strong, self-centred woman, and managed the estate so 
well that she was even jealous of any help or counsel. 

He had been gone a year when her fatal disease set in, 
though at first she would not admit it to herself. Then the 
pretty De Chatilly cousin, a heart-broken widow, came 
and died, and left her little girl to the care of the Mar- 
quise. Gervaise had come home from school and not 
gone back. He kept some accounts, but much of his 
time was idled away rambling about the beautiful woods 
with Angelique, or they read together, taking parts in 
old plays. Youth found so many pleasures. Sylvie was 
generally their companion. They heard little news from 

56 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


Paris. Madame de Brienne had dropped out of almost 
everything, though when the pain was not too intense her 
brain was busy evolving plans for her son’s welfare. At 
first she would not have him informed of her illness, and 
when word was sent at length, there was no certainty that 
it had reached him. Then had come their flight and the 
great overturn at Paris. 

Out of it all Gervaise Aubreton had developed into 
manhood. 

“It may be years before we go back,” he said. “It is 
indeed a reign of terror, no king, no government; men 
ruling to-day and guillotined to-morrow. The estates 
of the old nobility are confiscated, destroyed, and Brienne 
may have suffered with the rest. As for me, I had little 
to lose,” laughing cheerily. “I have a fancy I was de- 
pendent on the Marquise, who was kindness and good 
sense itself until her illness. And now I have a mind to 
cast in my lot with this new country.” 

“And become a subject of Spain!” cried Barbette, in- 
dignantly. “A Catholic, after all we have suffered at 
their hands !” ^ 

“But, my good Barbe, there is liberty in the very air 
here. Even the King of Spain, with all his resources and 
laws and promulgations, has not been able to make a 
purely Catholic country^ There are plenty of French 
Catholics here, and French they are to the backbone, 
but they affiliate with the Protestants. And there are 
vague rumors in the air. I went to a wine shop with 
Captain Strong ” 

Barbe held up her hands and uttered an ejaculation 
of horror. 

“I did not drink any wine, though I was invited. The 
captain had some business to talk over privately. There 
was a group of men at a table conversing in very good 

5 7 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


French, except one who was a colonist. I liked his face. 
He was tall and fair and strong, with splendid blue eyes. 
And they think Spain cannot hold Louisiana for long. 
There are some troublesome trade restrictions, it seems, 
and a growing party that feel they would be much better 
off attached to the colonies. And there is also a pre- 
sentiment that we shall go back to the care of France.” 

“And then?” queried Angelique. 

“I am not going back to France,” began Sylvie, de- 
cisively. “The garden is so beautiful, and all the fruits 
are delightful. Lucie gathered some for me. She talks 
so queer. It is French and not French either.” 

“Then you will stay with me, petite Sylvie,” said Ger- 
vaise, smiling, to the child. 

“Oh, I shall stay with you if the others go back. I do 
not want to be captured by pirates again.” 

She slipped her soft baby hand in his, confidently. 

“And my plan is that we shall remain here for a 
while at least. I have been considering. And when we 
are settled I will go to Detroit. You go up the Missis- 
sippi River, and there are great lakes like seas. I do not 
think Hugh is there, but I may hear about him. Detroit 
was an old French colony, and has been fought about 
more than once. I want to see these brave Americans 
that have done such wonders and given so much liberty 
everywhere. The Spanish hate them. And the French 
are not over in love with them, though they came and 
helped them to fight for liberty. There was the Marquis 
de La Fayette ” 

“They are not all Indians ?” said Angelique, tentatively. 

“Indians! Oh, no. The Indians were here first, it 
seems, and there are still a great many tribes. No, I 
think the Americans are from nearly all nations, but they 
58 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


talk English mostly. Oh dear — one knows such a very 
little !” and Gervaise indulged in a helpless sort of laugh. 

“But what are we to do?” asked Barbe. “We cannot 
go on living on Mere Milhet.” 

“But, thanks to your forethought, Barbe, we have 
enough to pay our way.” Then he did laugh with 
amusement. “The pirates were unusually good to us 
from what I hear of their exploits. Still we might have 
perished on the island. It is said there is a cave some- 
where and it is a rendezvous for smugglers and pirates.” 

Barbe gave a shudder as she glanced at pretty 
Angel ique. 

“We must have a house. Jaques can take care of you 
and look out for everything. I shall not be gone very long, 
and after that we will decide what is best. It is beautiful 
and picturesque all about. You must go out and see it.” 

Angelique was won by the eager light in his face. 
There was a stir in her blood as well. 

Mere Milhet listened to their questions and half plans. 
“Yes, there were rentiers — they were buying up old 
estates, and acres of land outside, putting up houses, and 
quite ready for respectable tenants. Oh, there would be 
no difficulty. There was M’sieu Lavalette — it would be 
well to see him.” 

“Is that Zenobie’s father ?” asked Sylvie, her blue eyes 
shining with sudden interest. 

“What dost thou know about Zenobie, little one?” 
queried Madame, gently. 

“Laure told me. She goes to the convent to school.” 

“Laure has a tongue that is full long,” but Mere Milhet 
smiled as she nodded. 

“Are there none but convent schools?” queried Barbe, 
apprehensively. 


59 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Oh yes, Madame. But the best Spanish is taught 
there. And beautiful fine needlework. Then they are 
trained in the elegance of manners and true religion. 
You do not believe this way, Madame, but you will 
see in time. There is much infidelity elsewhere.” 

“And this Monsieur Lavalette ” 

“We might see him this afternoon. But as I said to 
our good friend, Captain Strong, there need be no hurry. 
Thou and thine are most welcome.” 

They planned to go. There was a midday meal of 
fruits and most delicious little cakes, and salads of the 
simpler sort; then the siesta. Sylvie did not wish to 
lie down indoors and took to the hammock swung be- 
tween two great trees. 

Ah, how delightful it all was ! Birds were singing in the 
branches, not the joyous carolling of the morning hours, 
but low sweet notes, as if answering one another and 
holding tender converse. Then a mocking-bird lighted 
on a branch and flung out his note of defiance that not 
one of them seemed inclined to take up. Merry laughing 
notes, tender, entreating ones; a long whistle in which 
every earthly sound was blended, it would seem. 

“Oh, say it again, say it over again!” and Sylvie half 
rose in the hammock, and would have slipped out but 
for Lucie’s quick grasp. 

“He is not good at minding,” she said, in her soft 
patois. For already there were so many variations of 
language in the quaint city. 

“If you had one in a cage and taught him ” 

“He would ever be wilful, I am afraid. And he 
might not like to live in a cage, though some do.” 

“No, I would not keep him in a cage, after all. I like 
him best to fly about. And I like to run about. I should 
60 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


not like to be shut up in a room. That would be a cage 
for me.” 

Lucie smiled and then sighed. Her life was in a cage. 
Sometimes the bars seemed to contract. 

“You like it all here?" 

“Oh, so much! I am never going away. And 
— Lucie — some day I am going to be an American." 

“Oh, not an American!" with a quick gesture of the 
hands. “They are common. They are coarse. Their 
women all work. Few of them have any slaves. They 
are not ladies." 

“Do you like being a slave, Lucie ?" 

The blood shone in the dark cheek, many removes 
from black. 

“I have a good mistress," she answered, cautiously. 

“Did Madame buy you first ?" 

“I was born a slave." 

“I don’t understand. They were all servants at 
Brienne." A thoughtful line crossed the young fore- 
head. 

“France is a different country. Old Mere Lavalette 
came from France with the Filles a la Casette. She 
has some of the old clothes in a trunk. They are all very 
proud of it. She is almost a hundred." 

“I want to see Zenobie," said the child. “And this old, 
old lady is what ?" 

“Her gran’ mfre.” 

“But why was she called that?" 

“They were the King’s maids sent over for the 
colonists. And His Majesty ordered that they should be 
fitted out with a trousseau. They are very proud of 
Mere Lavalette and the quality go to see her. But 
sometimes she will not be seen. She is queer." 

61 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Lucie tapped her forehead to signify that the queerness 
was there. 

“Were their — their husbands already here?” she asked, 
timidly. 

“Oh, their husbands were the gentlemen who chose 
them. Men were very glad of wives in those days.” 

Sylvie smiled a little to herself. When the time came 
she would have a husband, and he would be glad of her. 
She gave her breast a little hug with both arms. It was 
quite delicious to have a secret. 

The wind was blowing up fresh from the gulf and 
lakes about when they went out in the later afternoon. 
Fragrance vied with unfragrance. God had made every- 
thing sweet and delightful; man so far had not made 
much that was beautiful, yet everything, even the 
dilapidated houses, looked picturesque in their coat of 
whitewash; and fences and balconies and great high- 
pointed palisades were covered with riotous vines. 
Wild orange-trees scented the air. 

They walked down Royale Street first. M’sieu Lava- 
lette had gone to Bayou Teche and would be back shortly 
after five. Then they went to view the government 
houses and the Cabildo. Officers and guards in scarlet 
and blue and gold lace were lounging about, or sitting 
in front of the wide open cafes, smoking or drinking out 
of slender glasses, and chattering in Spanish and a 
mixture of French and Spanish with the vivacious soft- 
ness of the Creole tongue, making a languorous “z” of 
Vs” and “c’s,” suppressions of inflections and confused 
abbreviations. Then there was the harshness of the 
Acadian French, and the drollery of the negro patois 
mingled with the queer dialect of the more newly im- 
ported African. Slaves of all descriptions, from the 
haughty, tall and imposing negress carrying her mis- 
62 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


tress's shawl and her bag, perhaps her great fan of turkey 
feathers put together with rare taste; some in snowy 
whiteness, some in old ivory tint, others in every variety. 
Free women of color perhaps quite as proud, and the old 
gentry, with their air of supreme indifference to every- 
body and everything save their own concerns. 

There were the long rows of the King’s warehouses, 
and in Toulouse Street the smithies of the marine and 
the shops for arms and ammunition. Opposite, and a 
short distance above, the Capuchins, with their church 
and some of their houses built of brick since the dev- 
astating fire. And here in Arsenal Street was the Ursu- 
line Convent with its overhanging balcony, its peaked 
roof and dormer-windows, its cross, and the circular 
window just below it, called even then a rose-window. 
For more than sixty years the nuns had occupied it, and 
were to keep it almost a quarter of a century longer be- 
fore they moved out of what was then a crowded 
thoroughfare. 

Even now the streets as they stretched out ended in 
marsh lands and reedy ponds, with water-willow and pal- 
metto and rank tropical vegetation. All along the levees 
were the bustling signs of busy life ; vessels loading and 
unloading, and boats of all kinds to the slim, frail canoe, 
with a halfbreed Indian or an African trolling out a 
merry refrain. 

Narrow streets, with houses of every degree, adobe or 
brick walls enclosing some, others almost to the edge of 
the sidewalk; arcades and suggestive inner courts half 
hidden by shrubbery; ponderous doors and batten shut- 
ters bristling with heavy iron bolts, balconies from 
whence came a gay chatter or the sound of harp and 
guitar ; many houses, now two stories, with a high peaked 
roof and the chimney built entirely outside, of brick and 
stone. 


63 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Stores and shops too, there were, cafes and doctors’ 
signs, and drinking places full of sailors from every land 
it would seem, talking and gesticulating so fiercely one 
shuddered at the prospect of a coming fight. 

Sometimes Sylvie shrank in affright; then her interest 
was aroused or her amusement quickened by the queer 
antics of the half-clad negro boys who would stand on 
their heads, walk on their hands, sing a song or dance 
a jig or chatter in some mysterious lingo for the merest 
reward. Gervaise had her tightly by the hand; Jaques 
was caring for Angelique, and the two women headed the 
little procession as they viewed some of the most im- 
portant points. Then they wended their way back to 
the Rue Royale. 

M’sieu Lavalette had returned. Although the story- 
and-a-half building had not a very pretentious aspect, and 
the sanded floor and wooden benches were extremely 
plain, their host, with a great show of politeness, ushered 
them into an adjoining apartment, where there were 
plenty of chairs and a great round table ornamented by 
several well-thumbed packs of cards and a queer blue 
plate that did duty as an ash receiver. 

M’sieu Lavalette had the manners of a prince. Had 
he been receiving the guests in a royal apartment he could 
not have had more dignity and graciousness, and 
none of the effusiveness of an underbred person. Would 
they accept his hospitality and be seated? Then he sent 
his black servant for a pitcher of a kind of drink the 
Creoles manufactured to perfection, made of limes and 
oranges, and flavored with a decoction of flowers, it would 
seem. 

Mere Milhet began the conversation. In the best 
French at her command, she explained the situation. 

64 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


They were, in a certain sense, refugees, but would no 
doubtgoback for their fortune unless they found Nouveau 
Orleans so pleasant. They would not be able to tear 
themselves away. For a year at least they would need 
a home. They desired a nice comfortable place, not 
right in the heart of the city, and with a garden spot. 
There was a cousin who had come to America before, 
and they were to make a search for him. The young 
man, M’sieu Aubreton, would do that while the others 
waited here. 

Mere Milhet had made pauses for the questions she 
knew would be asked, polite, tentative suggestions rather 
than absolute inquiries. And now she turned the guests 
over to M’sieu Lavalette. 

A tall, rather spare man with a pale complexion, soft 
dark eyes and hair of brown rather than black, and a 
scanty beard with some chestnut tints. All the features 
were rather aquiline, but not severe, vivacious and 
friendly. 

“A garden,” in a soft, musing tone. “And not quite 
in the town ?” 

“And on high ground,” appended Barbe. “Every- 
thing seems so low, so wet.” 

Lavalette gave a little shrug. “Yet tis mos’ beautiful,” 
he said, “with the river winding about and the lakes and 
bayous. A mos’ beautiful city presentlee,” with a soft 
lingering cadence on the last syllable. “Yes, I think 
I have one place. It is out on St. John Road. You 
know, Mere Milhet?” 

“Oh, that is not far.” 

“The family go to Havana. I buy it with great 
cheapness. Roomy, beautiful, convenient. And such 
fruit, Madame, such a garden ! The other is less in cost, 
but no such garden.” 


65 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“And the garden is most useful when one knows ” 

she glanced furtively at Jaques. 

“Yes, Madame. The garden will be my care. I 
could not settle to complete idleness. ,, 

“If it were not so late ” M’sieu Lavalette glanced 

at his watch. 

“We had better go in the morning,” said Barbe. 
“Then we can look all about, and if we think this too 
large we can inspect the other.” 

“I shall be mos’ happy to wait upon Madame. I have 
great honor in you,” and he bowed. “Mere Milhet, I 
am so much obliged for your very good friendship. 
And we will make these people quite at home,” smiling 
on the little group. “I have a daughter perhaps about 
your age,” and he bowed to Angelique. “It may please 
you to be friends.” 

Sylvie came a little nearer. The soft voice and gliding 
intonation quite fascinated her. 

“And is Zenobie your little girl too?” she asked, with 
charming timidity. 

“Non — my little girl is Felicite, less than you. Zeno- 
bie is large.” 

She betrayed her disappointment at the first part of 
his sentence, but now a smile like sunshine quivered about 
her rosy mouth. 

“Where did you hear about Zenobie?” he asked, 
glancing questioningly at Mere Milhet. 

“Laure knows her at school. She talked of the girls 
to the little one.” 

“Thou shalt see Zenobie, but she will be too large for 
thee. Felicite is very sweet and full of mirth.” 

He pressed the little hand and Sylvie smiled. 

At home they talked of the place and the plans and 
were full of interest. Laure had been unfortunate again 
66 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


and had a penance. She had said something not quite 
true, a failing with poor Laure, and she was not to 
talk to any one all the evening, and study her Spanish. 

“I am glad I shall not go to the convent,” declared 
Sylvie. “But the bell rings so beautifully that one has 
to listen.” 

“The bell must not make you a Catholic, even if you 
do listen,” said Gervaise, teasingly. 

“As if a bell could !” indignantly. 

“Perhaps Zenobie will. You must have a care.” 
And Gervaise looked apprehensive. 

“Zenobie is very beautiful, Laure said,” and Sylvie 
tossed her head as if coquetting with danger. 

The town had sometime since overflowed its original 
boundaries. Not only in the business part and the ship- 
ping, but Toulouse, Royale, Chartres and many another 
street was stretching out into what seemed a wilderness 
only a few years ago. Thousands of Americans were 
settling on the outskirts and managed to get land, 
although the city had refused to sell to the English. 
And the road to the Bayou St. John was one of these 
lengthened-out places. The ground was a little high and 
sloped down to the river. There was quite a space in 
front bordered by magnolia trees, and a driveway up 
to the house, flanked by fragrant oleanders and blossom- 
ing shrubs. Its lower story was of brick and covered 
with trailing vines and thousands of roses. The upper 
story was frame, and on three sides a broad gallery over- 
hung by an extended roof, and supported by brick 
columns. The wide doorway opened into a great hall, 
and on one side were the slaves’ apartments ; on the other, 
innumerable kitchens. The family rooms were upstairs, 
large, commodious, and airy, and at the back the grounds 
stretched out through a magnificent allee to a kitchen 
garden. 


67 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“But who has cultivated it?” cried Gervaise. “It is 
in such splendid order.” 

“Father Antoine. Three or four priests have a house 
farther up the river. And when there was no tenant 
Father Antoine proposed to take it and divide if some one 
came. Their mission extends up for miles, among the 
Indians. You will find them good neighbors.” 

“It will cost too much, I am afraid,” said Barbe, with 
a sigh, thinking of the grandeur of Brienne. “And a 
smaller place would do. We should want some ser- 
vants ” 

“They are easily obtained. Only this morning our 
housekeeper was begging us to hire two more servants, 
and the saints know we have a houseful now! Their 
mistress has taken a journey to the States and does not 
want to sell them at present. A most excellent cook and 
waitress.” 

“We had better see the small house,” declared Barbe, 
decisively. 

But the small house was on a narrow dirty street, with 
a cabaret only a few doors away. One could not put a 
pretty girl like Angelique in it! And the children play- 
ing about were not at all mates for Sylvie. 

“Let us talk it over,” said M’sieu Lavalette. “To a 
good tenant I might say less. Anything is better than 
letting it go to ruin with the damp. Come, I think 
we can agree upon a bargain. And there are several 
pieces of old furniture in it. Consider, Madame.” 

And they considered to such good purpose that the 
house was taken. And now could M’sieu Lavalette 
advise them how to dispose of some precious stones? 
Part of their portion was still in the hands of a banker 
at Amsterdam. 

Monsieur Lavalette was profuse in his thanks to Mere 
68 


HOW IT LOOKED TO YOUNG EYES. 


Milhet for so good a tenant. The very next day he 
brought his wife, his daughter, a grown-up young lady, 
Claire, and the little Felicite, who was not more than five, 
and very shy. 

They all made a friendly acquaintance. Madame 
Lavalette was very handsomely attired; a tall, imposing 
woman, but with a soft, almost caressing voice. She 
was so charmed to meet them. There were hosts of 
refugees fleeing from France, some not at all desirable, 
and she gave a dainty shrug to her finely formed sloping 
shoulders in their cloud of black lace. But merci! 
What could one do but run away with one’s head in 
danger ? And the poor King and Queen ! But even their 
sorrows were at an end and the sweet motherof God would 
help reward them for their martydom. It was the poor 
children, after all, who were to be pitied. “You see we 
are French to the heart’s core, Madame. The Spaniard 
may make his laws and we obey them, outwardly at 
least,” smiling and twinkling her fine dark eyes. “But 
we can make reservation in our hearts and live our own 
lives in our homes. True, the Spaniard is not so 
bad, only we are French, and we all protested against 
being sold like slaves or cattle. So it is a pleasure to 
meet some one newly from our beloved country. We 
must be friends, and here is Mam’selle Claire, who will 
be very companionable for your niece — is it not?” 

“Perhaps not quite so near as that,” returned Barbe, 
embarrassed. 

“Mam’selle Angelique, you must come and visit Claire. 
And whatever can be done for you, my husband will do 
most cheerfully. Do not forget you are among friends.” 

Madame had talked so volubly that though Sylvie had 
framed a dozen questions about Zenobie, she had not 
found a place to put in even one, though she had been 

69 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


much interested and almost bewildered by the rapid 
stream of words. Felicite had stared and occasionally 
said, “Non,” holding fast of her mother’s gown most of 
the time. 

“She is only a baby!” declared Sylvie, disdainfully, 
afterward. “I am years and years older! And, Angel, 
I have been married and have a husband,” with amusing 
importance. 

“But we are not to talk of that, you know. It is a 
great secret. And then — Cousin Hugh may — may not be 
found,” swallowing over a lump in her throat. 

“I do not care for Cousin Hugh. It is Gervaise who 
is my husband, and whom I shall always love. And to 
think of my caring for a baby who cannot talk plain!” 
drawing herself up with dignity. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MAKING A NEW HOME. 

No one of the household was happier than the little 
girl in the new home. The trees and birds and flowers 
filled her with a kind of exultant joy. That all these things 
were real; real figs, real oranges and lemons and apri- 
cots and peaches. And roses to be gathered by the 
armful. She ran and danced and sang, and was gay 
as a butterfly. 

The house >vas very pleasant. It was raised a little on 
brick pillars, that there might be a circulation of air 
underneath, as many of the best houses were now being 
built. The stone stairway that led to the real apartments 
7o 


MAKING A NEW HOME. 


was easy and broad. It looked almost like entering a 
church. Over the kitchen department was a spacious 
dining-room reached by another stairway. Most of the 
apartments opened upon the long oval hall, out of which 
at both ends a grating-door led to the corridors without. 

What to do for furniture perplexed Barbette. Where 
were there any shops or stores ? 

“Madame Lavalette will be very glad to tell us. 
There is another thing, Barbe ” 

Angetique’s face went such a vivid scarlet that Barbe 
lifted both hands in amaze. 

“What is wrong, ma chere?” 

“Nothing is wrong, but we must set some things right 
in the very beginning,” exclaimed the young girl, with 
a touch of embarrassment. Then she came and put her 
arms about Barbe’s neck. “You have been such a good 
friend to us, like a mother, Barbe.” 

“A mother indeed to the little one. But then I was 
like an elder sister to Sylvie de Chatillly, and when she 
became madame, sweet young thing, and her husband a 
good deal at the wars ” 

Barbe paused and wiped away a tear. 

“Yes. If you had been of her kin you could not have 
been more tender. And did you hear, Barbe, what a 
man was saying to M. Lavalette, that all titles were 
abolished in Paris and everybody was plain Citizen 
So-or-so ?” 

“Ah, the wickedness ! But what can you expect when 
they put a king to death? It is well the poor Marquise 
did not live to see the day. But what of all this, 
Mam’selle?” 

She raised the sweet, flushed face and glanced into the 
brown eyes that had golden lights in them. 

“Perhaps I cannot explain this to you easily, Barbe, but 
7i 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


you see we are two young girls and must have a pro- 
tectress. There must be a head to the house, a Madame 
who can receive and order things for us and decide 
where we are to go and to take us out ” 

“Oh, poor things! Yes, I see. And you have no 

relative ” interrupted Barbe, in a pained, sympathetic 

tone, studying the girl with tender pity. 

“You must be the relative, the aunt, the Madame. 
You will take charge of everything, so why should you 
not have the credit, the position? And we will all pay 
you the respect. I was talking to Gervaise and he agrees 
with me. It must be settled before any servants 
come. And Jaques is to be steward and manager. 
You see you are both fairly well educated. You read 
Latin. You know the French authors so well.” 

“Yes, I used to read to my dear Madame Sylvie. And 
the Marquise enjoyed it. She said it quite weakened 
many of the pains.” 

“Well, then, you are to be a connection, a distant 
relative. It happens in many families that some are 
richer than others. But for you we should not have 
anything, and perhaps have been thrust into a convent. 
Who else would have thought to quilt diamonds and gold 
pieces in an old skirt? They would have taken the new 
and no doubt roused suspicion. And to say that I was 
a sick little child and bundle me up so that no one could 
tell ! Oh, Barbe, we owe you everything !” 

They both cried sympathetically with their arms 
around each other. So many evils might have happened, 
and here they were all safe. 

“So you see, Barbe, this is the best thing to do. You 
shall be AJadame Champe, as I introduced you that day 
to Madame Lavalette. And we shall call you Aunt, 

72 


MAKING A NEW HOME* 


ma tante, they say here,” laughing lightly. “And you 
must always hold yourself up like a real lady, Barbe — 
you have always been with ladies and never in the place 
of a servant.” 

“As you like, ma chere,” the woman answered, meekly. 
She felt like a mother to the girls. 

“There comes Gervaise. Oh, Gervaise, it is all ar- 
ranged. I have been explaining to Barbe, and now she 
understands. It will not take long for us to get settled 
in new ways. Aid now we must see about a hundred 
things. It will be so delightful to feel at ease in a real 
home once more. If you were not going away ” 

She was very fond of Gervaise in a sisterly fashion. 

“Oh, I shall wait until we are in smooth running 
order. Indeed, I could wish I had no need to go at all. 
I like this queer, beautiful place. Everything seems so 
alive, so full of stirring romance.” 

“Yes, you must find Hugh,” she said, gravely. 

“I will do my best to trace him up. It is such a big 
country, Angel. Louisiana goes up north thousands of 
miles, and stretches out to the westward farther than man 
has travelled. Oh, how could any king give up such a 
grand domain ! And the heroes ! Pere Antoine was 
telling me about the man who discovered the mighty 
river here. And they have all been glorious Frenchmen ! 
All America should have been New France.” 

How bright and brave he looked in his enthusiasm. 

Madame Lavalette was very kind about the furnish- 
ing, though it was M’sieu who knew the best places and 
was the real bargain-maker. “Not too much for our 
purse,” Madame Champe said. “We must learn to have 
a closer garment — that is not quite it, I think,” smiling. 

“To cut one’s garment according to the cloth,” and 
73 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Madame Lavalette showed her pretty pearly teeth in her 
laugh. “But you are so much better off than many of 
the refugees that you must indeed give thanks.” 

“As we do with our whole hearts.” 

Gervaise took a tour about with M. Lavalette. In a 
most unpromising second-hand place they found some fine 
old articles that required only a little furbishing up. 
There was not much needed in those days. Father 
Antoine begged they would buy of his simple house some 
chairs and settees made of a reedy grass the Indians had 
taught them how to weave. The money obtained in this 
manner was spent on the Indian missions. For many a 
brave, self-denying priest had come to the New World 
with only one object: to convert and civilize the heathen 
Indians. And as a travesty astute money-making men 
were pouring in and smuggling in Africans, with their 
fetich worship, their charms and incantations. 

Many people hired slaves, especially those who ex- 
pected to remain only a limited period. So to the new 
home came Marti, a tall, stout, well-ebonized woman with 
a magnificent turban over her woolly locks, great hoop 
earrings in her ears, and a jolly, laughing face; a most 
excellent cook; and a tall slim girl many shades lighter, 
who answered to the name of Viny. And then real 
living began. 

Society, too, for Angelique. Madame Lavalette came 
over with an invitation. 

“Thou must certainly accept, pretty one,” she said to 
the young girl. “Thou and thy cousin. Madame 
Henriade saw him pass with my husband and she is, 
oh, so interested ! And she has all the best society about 
her — a most charming woman, with lovers always at her 
feet, but true to her one love who perished at sea. It is 
thought she believes he may come back some day. It 

74 


MAKING A NEW HOME. 


is a pretty little evening-dance. She is fond of young 
people, and is, what you call, irreproachable ; so no young 
girl can be scandalized who goes to Rue Royale. Claire 
is a great favorite. And Madame’s verdict admits any- 
where.” 

“But ” began Barbe, rather nonplussed. “We 

have been here such a little while. And she has no 
attire. Oh, the closets and trunks full at Brienne!” 

“That is not needful, Madame. A simple white gown 
— Claire has several, and one could be fitted over easily. 
Indeed, there is one of last summer laid away. Claire 
grew stouter, which is not necessary in youth,” laughing 
gayly. “Mam’selle Angelique is so slim. Ah, yes, go she 
must, my good Madame Champe. I will chaperon them 
all. And your young man. My husband says it is a pity 
for him not to know people. He is so attractive.” 

“I will see what they think.” Both were out rambling 
now. The world they had gotten into was so exquisitely 
new and beautiful they could hardly stay indoors an hour. 

“Ah, but you must think for them, dear Madame. 
They cannot know; and it will not do for Mam’selle to 
grow up like a wild Indian girl of the forest. She is too 
pretty. And she must marry. Men are not so eager 
here about the dot. They are more generous, as you 
will find. They make fortunes for themselves. Though 
our girls will not be wanting in that respect. But the 
girl’s market is best when she is young and lovely.” 

Barbe had never had time to think of Angelique’s 
marrying. Events had so crowded upon one another. 

“And to settle this, you must come over and sup with 
us, all of you, and the little one. My husband bids it. 
Then you can see the frock. Do not be offended, Madame. 
M’sieu is so charmed with all of you and the young man. 
Ah, if there had been one son for him ! But the Blessed 

75 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Virgin knew best, I suppose, when she made them all to 
be daughters and mothers like herself. Yes, you will 
come. Let it be to-morrow evening, then.” 

“What are we to to?” Barbe exclaimed, when the 
young people returned with loads of flowers. “Surely 
we cannot all go to supper. And we have so little to wear. 
How can I be right always as a great lady ?” 

“But you have been with ladies all your life, dear 
Barbe,” exclaimed the girl, while a soft and generous 
light illumined her eyes and lines of tender pride made 
her face bloom with the resolution of coming woman- 
hood. “Gervaise, did you not remark that, kind as Mere 
Milhet was, and always ready to think of you, she lacked 
the delicate breeding of Barbe. And you know the 
Marquise made an equal of you, and kept your place 
above that of the servants. You have your black silk 
gown that survived storms and pirates, and I can furbish 
up a pretty lace cap. And, Gervaise, would it not be 
lovely to go to a dance and see beautiful people ?” 

Her sweet face was all aglow and her eyes sparkling as 
she turned them to the youth. 

“Oh, and that Madame in the Rue Royale is exquisite. 
We were passing, M’sieu Lavalette and I, two days ago, 
I think, when she leaned over the balcony and nodded. 
It is a nice house and a good neighborhood. And she 
was like some beautiful picture, framed in by the lattice- 
work and vines. Oh, yes, let us go, by all means.” He 
was so eager to see a little of the bright world that had 
thrown out suggestions of enjoyment. 

“She will take you there. It is going to sup ” 

Gervaise laughed merrily. “After training so elegant an 
example as Sylvie, you need not be afraid. And, Barbe, 
there are shops down in the town where you can buy 
goods ” 


76 


MAKING A NEW HOME. 


“I shall wear my blue frock, faded as it is, for it would 
not be worth while to bother to-morrow and tire our- 
selves all out. And Mere Milhet’s Lucie sews beautifully 
— you know the good mere said she might come to assist 
us. But just now we will not fret. Oh, yes, we will 
go to the supper and please Madame Lavalette, who has 
been so kind. Gervaise, do you suppose we have for- 
gotten how to dance?” She glanced up mirthfully and 
held out both hands. He caught them and they went 
whirling round as if their feet barely touched the floor. 

They were young and happy. Why should they not 
forget the old things in this gay, glad New World? 
There had been sorrows for Barbe, but she still had her 
kind husband and these children, if they were not of her 
blood. 

Sylvie was delighted to go to supper, though she would 
not see Zenobie. She was at the convent preparing for 
confirmation. She had been taken suddenly ill at 
Easter when the bishop came, to her great sorrow indeed, 
since that was a grand ceremony. And now there was 
to be a much quieter one in the chapel of the Ursulines. 
Two young girls who had come from the hospital and 
barely escaped with their lives were very anxious to be 
received in the Church. So Pere Moras had found a 
considerable class. 

Madame Champe looked quite the refined lady in her 
black silk that had been sponged and ironed by Viny. 
With some bits of black velvet and lace, Angelique’s deft 
fingers had given it touches of style, and her cap would 
have done credit to a modiste. The young girl’s frock 
was decidedly shabby, but Sylvie looked like a little 
angel in her fresh, white frock. Gervaise had gone down 
in the town and bought her. a soft silken sash of pale blue. 

“You must pardon me, Madame,” Angelique said, 
77 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


sweetly, “but the time was so short that I could not 
provide myself with proper apparel to do credit to your 
kind invitation. We are not settled yet, and have hardly 
thought of clothes or competent needlewomen.” 

“Thou charming girl !” Madame Lavalette bent over 
and kissed her on both cheeks. “Thou wilt need little 
else than thy sweet face and fascinating manner to give 
thee a welcome here. Truly, I should have been filled 
with regret and had less esteem for thee if thy frock 
had kept thee away.” 

Out on the greensward a dozen or two rollicking negro 
children were cutting up all sorts of antics, to the great 
delight of Felicite. She beckoned Sylvie, who was soon 
laughing merrily. 

“M’sieu Lavalette had quite a plantation. Like some 
of the early settlers, he had tried his hand at indigo and 
myrtle-wax, but neither had been a success. By great 
good-fortune he had been able to turn some of his 
property into building-lots and erect houses that brought 
him in som$- income. Rice and corn, cotton and tobacco, 
had proved the agriculturist’s only staples. But now 
attention had been turned to the sugar-cane. It was 
true, also, that the slave-holders were beginning to care 
more for the negro progeny, and pickaninnies were made 
welcome with the thought of their future use and value. 

Here were acres of sugar-cane in which M’sieu took 
great pride. 

“Ah, you should see the plantations up above,” he said, 
enthusiastically, when Gervaise spoke of its waving 
beauty. “Miles and miles of it, and it is our own genius 
that has made it a success. We are all very proud of 
M’sieu de Bore !” 

“Ah, yes. That is the sugar manufacturer. I should 
like to visit him.” 


78 


MAKING A NEW HOME. 


“That you shall. It was a great risk, but he came 
out on top, as the Americans say. Ah, what an excite- 
ment it was and everybody went wild ! You must know 
they had tried a great many times. But there was so 
much syrup, such heavy, poor sugar, not fit for market- 
ing. And when indigo had failed and everybody was in 
despair — we have had so many reverses — and planters 
were now convinced the cane would make little else than 
syrup and that vile taffia. But M. de Bore had some 
new ideas or the saints had sent him a vision. Every- 
body said he would ruin himself. Well, the cane grew 
magnificently and was cut; and then came the grinding 
and boiling. There was a great crowd, for you see it 
was a matter of prosperity or ruin for many — prosperity 
for the whole country around if it succeeded. Ah, you 
can imagine how they stood and watched and doubted, 
and prayed to the saints. And then suddenly the cry 
went out, ‘It granulates ! it granulates !’ All around every- 
body took up the word and ran hither and thither like 
wild men. At first they could hardly believe it ; but 
when they saw the sugar, and the process went on with- 
out a break, the bells rang, and the devout hastened to 
churches and fell on their knees to give thanks. For 
M. de Bore not only saved himself, but the whole country. 
And it was no Spanish genius, for he was a French noble 
by birth, and had been in the King’s household troops as 
a young man.” 

“And where is he now?” asked Gervaise, all eagerness. 
“Why, he, too, is a hero.” 

“Oh, that was only such a little while ago; in the ’95. 
And he has gone on making a fortune for himself and 
others.” 

“And were you there ? I should like to 'have been,” 
cried the youth, with enthusiasm. 

79 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“I was not there the first evening. But hundreds went 
out afterward. Each man wanted to see for himself. 
And you can hardly imagine the battery of huge 
caldrons, the great seething sea of yellow juice being 
swung from kettle to kettle, and the old mousquetaire, 
who had passed his half-century then, testing the thick- 
ening juice until he saw the shining drops crystallize into 
grains. And it was a greater triumph because his wife’s 
father had been nearly ruined, years before, trying to 
make sugar.” 

“That seems to me as grand a triumph as winning a 
battle,” said Angelique, her face flushed with listening 
interest and her eyes alight with emotion. 

“Ah, Mam’selle, we sometimes dream of winning the 
other battle as well,” and the Creole’s eyes were fired 
with the spirit Spain had not been able to quench in all 
these years of dominion. “But, when they grind again 
I will take you to see. There are other sugar mills 
now.” 

“But I want to see this one and M. de Bore,” 
Angelique exclaimed, with enthusiasm. 

Barbe had been deeply interested as well. There was 
a charm about the spacious house and its really hand- 
some furnishing that spoke of old France : the imposing 
woman who sat at the head of the table, the pretty 
daughter beside Angelique, who did not suffer any by 
comparison if her gown was faded ; the well-trained ser- 
vants, who moved about with easy grace; the china and 
quaint silver, the great jars of flowers standing every- 
where, and the vines shaking off fragrance in the dewy 
air. 

Occasionally Angelique glanced at Barbette, who sat 
grave and composed and allowed herself to be waited 
upon with quiet self-possession. Indeed, she had felt at 

80 


MAKING A NEW HOME. 


home at once amid this luxury that she had hardly ex- 
pected in the barbarous New World. 

When they had adjourned to the veranda, Gervaise 
seated himself beside the elder man and could have 
listened all night to the romances. The ladies began to 
talk of the coming event in the Rue Royale. 

“It would be very funny to go in a borrowed gown, 
Madame,” laughed Angelique. “Would I have the fate 
of the little German girl who sat in the chimney corner 
until her fairy godmother came and transformed her, 
and who turned into her own old clothes again ?” 

“It would not be borrowed, ma chere. If you will 
accept it as a little gift. There will be enough saved up 
for Zenobie; and as for Felice, it will be a long while 
before she will need such things.” 

“Ah, Zenobie! Am I never to see Zenobie?” asked 
Sylvie, plaintively. 

“Dear child. Are you so anxious? But Zenobie is a 
big girl. Ah, Madame, how soon they outgrow the 
sweet childhood! I am glad Felice is no older. Yes, 
you shall see Zenobie before long. And now, Madame, 
let us talk of these young people. Mam’selle Angelique, 
you will like Madame Henriade so much. And since 
you are likely to remain for some time, it is well to know 
some of the best people at once. I am glad to have 
you accept so cordially what is proffered in the same 
spirit. I hope you and Claire will be friends. She has 
companions, but none so near.” 

Then they went to the sitting-room that was kept 
altogether for the feminine part — a sewing-room, we 
should call it. There was a table of unfinished garments, 
embroideries, and everything piled up in a light, airy 
fashion. Marie, a graceful mulatto, measured the dress 
to the young girl. 


81 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“It will be just long enough/’ 

“Not too long for dancing.” 

“Mam’selle Claire has grown since last summer,” and 
she smiled. “It will be just right, only too large in the 
shoulders.” She surveyed Angelique’s figure with ad- 
miration. “If I could have Mam’selle a little while to- 
morrow ” 

“Yes, in the morning I will send ” 

“Or we could walk over, Madame,” answered 
Angelique quickly. “Gervaise and I walk about so 
much. The country is so lovely. Brienne seems tame 
beside it. True, the forests were beautiful and grand, 
but there is such a wealth of everything here. Do you 
ever have any winter, Madame?” with a charming, in- 
credulous smile. 

“Oh, yes. In my remembrance there has been ice and 
snow and nearly everything killed ; but it soon grows 
again. It is a lovely country. And sometimes you must 
see M’sieu’s gran’mere. She is almost a hundred, and 
came over from France with the King’s maids. And 
almost at once she met M’sieu Lavalette. He was a tall, 
fine-looking man and in the service of M. de la Mothe 
Cadillac. They were just making the town then. And 
they had marvellous adventures. You must know at that 
period they were all searching for gold, and making dis- 
coveries everywhere. Ah, it was a grand but perilous 
time ! And from a little settlement of a few hundred the 
town has grown to this. But we want once more to be 
under the Fleur-de-Lys of France. It will come,” nod- 
ding confidently. “They have made many laws, they 
have tried to make us all Spanish, they have even sent 
their priests ; but our good Father Dagobert was a match 
for them. Ah, he was so good. All the Indians loved 
him.” 


82 


MAKING A NEW HOME. 


“But you are all Catholics,” said Madame Champe. 

“Ah, but there is so much difference,” with pride- 
ful energy. “Did we have auto-da-fes in our beloved 
France, and that terrible Inquisition? There was a new 
king in Spain, Charles IV., and Miro was then governor. 
The Capuchin prelate, Father Sedella, announced to the 
governor that he had been appointed Commissary of the 
Inquisition. Everybody who heard was wild with terror, 
especially when he notified the governor that he might 
need some guards to assist him late at night, as he gained 
lists of disaffected persons. Why, then you know, no 
one was safe. You might be snatched from your bed 
and put on board a vessel and taken to Spain, and no one 
know a word about you.” 

Madame glanced around at her interested audience, but 
there was the triumph of a climax in her flashing eyes. 

“Did they dare take such a step as that?” demanded 
Gervaise. 

“Wait — you shall hear. There came one night a great 
knocking at the Father’s door. When he opened it he 
saw an officer and a company of Grenadiers. ‘My 
friends/ he said, ‘thanks for your ready compliance, but 
to-night I have no need. My plans are not yet per- 
fected. Retire with the blessing of God/ 

“ ‘We are not in need of the blessing of the Inquisi- 
tion/ was the answer. ‘Dress yourself at once. We 
want you/ 

“ ‘What ! will you dare lay your hands on an officer of 
the Inquisition?’ demanded Father Sedella. 

“ ‘We dare obey orders in the name of Christ and his 
holy Mother. Come at once/ replied the officer. He 
could not refuse, or they would have carried him by force. 
So they conveyed him on board of a vessel, and the next 
day it set sail for Cadiz.” 


83 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“But what did the King do when it arrived ?” 

“Don Antonio Valdes took despatches from the 
governor to the King to remind him of the pledge that 
had been given that new colonists should not be molested, 
provided there was no other recognized mode of public 
worship, and that it was his, the King’s, wish that emi- 
gration should be encouraged. The mere fact of an 
officer of the Inquisition being in the province would 
drive people at once to the shelter of the Americans, who 
were growing more powerful every day. And he also 
informed the King that Don Andreas Almonaster had 
laid the foundation of the new Cathedral that would be 
a glory to the province, and that the population was 
largely loyal Catholics.” 

“And is it really true that we — that no one besides your 
Church is allowed to worship publicly?” asked Madame 
Champe, with a protest in her voice. 

The hostess smiled with an expressive gesture. 

“There are many people coming and going all the time 
who are not Catholics, and you will find people of your 
own faith. They no doubt have their services. But the 
horrible Inquisition — no, we could not stand that! We 
are not all Spanish yet,” with a doubtful, musical laugh. 

Claire and Angelique had made quite a friendship. 
There were various places of entertainment. There was 
a theatre; only young girls were not allowed to see all 
the plays. And there was walking along the levees and 
driving out to the lakes, where many had summer houses 
and plantations and boats, and went sailing where it was 
most delicious. And visiting parties — where they danced 
and played games. 

But Barbe gave the signal for their departure, aftef 
expressing much pleasure and gratitude for the friend- 
liness. 


84 


'A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


Two slaves with lanterns were despatched to see them 
safely home. But there was such a magnificent moon 
that it was almost like day. 

“I shall never want to go back to France/’ declared 
Angelique, with enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 

Sylvie begged to go over with them the next day. 
Yes, she would play with Felice, even if she was such a 
baby, and could not talk straight. 

“I do wonder if we shall ever fall into such a patois?” 
laughed Angelique. “It is very soft and pretty. And 
then the slaves have another. What queer stories they 
can tell ; tragic ones, too. It recalls the old Roman times 
when they transported people and made slaves of many 
in their colonizing.” 

Claire took Gervaise out on the veranda by one of 
those invitations that need only a smile and a glance of 
the eye. They were within range, but far enough distant 
to talk and laugh in comparative freedom. Claire was 
charming with the little arts, the vivacity, and a certain 
quickness of repartee that quite dazzled him. Her con- 
vent education was of the most superficial order, but it 
made her very agreeable. 

Sylvie did not succeed so well with her companion. 
The little French girl had been so much with older people 
that she was not inclined to be indulgent to baby whims. 

“My doll that I left in France was ever so much larger 
85 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and handsomer,” she said, boastfully, when Felice hugged 
her to her heart and would not let the visitor touch it. 
“And I had so many playthings! But I have grown a 
big girl and study a little every day.” 

“At the convent?” asked Felice. 

“No,” with dignity. “I shall never go to a convent. 
We do not believe in them.” 

Felice stared. To go to the convent was the ambition 
of every little girl’s life. 

“Then you will be a — a dunce — an imbecile.” 

“I shall not, either!” Sylvie’s face was very red. “I 
can read, and I am studying Latin and Spanish a little, 
and ” what else did she know ? 

“But I can talk in Spanish. We were born so,” de- 
clared the little maid, triumphantly. 

Sylvie was nonplussed. “You can’t be born two kinds 
of people,” she said, confidently. 

“But we are — oh, ever so many; but not Americans,” 
shaking her head decisively. 

“I like the Americans. Captain Strong was so nice 
to us. And we were captured by pirates. I think they 
were Spanish. I don’t believe you ever saw a pirate! 
They have fierce long beards and black hair and guns and 
cutlasses and great sharp knives! Angel says it is a 
wonder we were not all killed. When I grow up to be 
a woman I shall be an American.” 

Now it was Felice’s turn to be extinguished. She 
could not strike Sylvie as she did the slave-children when 
she was vexed with them. She glared a moment, then 
sank down on the grass and cried — “howled” would be 
better. 

The nurse, who had been discussing love charms with 
an old negress who was slyly travelling round with them, 
ran forward. 


86 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


“Oh, mon Angel mon Angel What did they do to 
my beautiful ! my cherub !” 

“She fell down,” said Sylvie, in a scornful tone. 
“And she cries a great deal over a little thing. I cannot 
imagine what she would do if she was wrecked on a 
desert island.” 

Then Sylvie marched off with her dainty head held 
high up in the air while the nurse soon comforted her 
charge and trotted about with her on her shoulders, while 
the little hands were tighly grasped in the kinky wool. 
This was an unfailing solace to Felice. 

“I can’t endure that cross baby!” declared Sylvie, as 
they were walking home. “And I am not going to like 
Zenobie, either.” 

“But you have never seen Zenobie.” 

“I do not care. I do not want to see her. Do you 
like Mam’selle Claire?” 

“She is charming,” declared Gervaise. “I am to dance 
with her to-night.” 

“Gervaise!” Sylvie stopped short in the path, her face 
aglow with temper, her eyes with passionate lights. 
“Gervaise — you shall not dance with Mam’selle Claire. 
You shall not go to see her. You belong to me. You 
may dance with Angel all night long, but Claire, never, 
never !” 

“What a tragic little maid ! Am I your prisoner?” His 
eyes had dancing lights in them, and there were merry 
curves about his lips. Her temper amused him. 

“You are my — I am your little wife, Gervaise.” She 
stretched herself up to her utmost height. There was a 
strange dignity in every line of her slim figure and in 
each feature. 

“Sylvie, dear, listen.” Angelique put her arm about 

the child. “That was ” no, the child could not under- 

87 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


stand. How perplexing that ill-fated ceremony would 
prove — only — if Gervaise should come to care for her! 
Could it be undone? “Remember what Barbe said. You 
are such a little girl now and this is not to be talked about. 
When you are larger it will all come right. Meanwhile 
you must not take absurd dislikes. Felice is a spoiled 
baby, but they all love her, just as your mother would 
love you if she were alive. And if you mean to be a sweet, 
amiable woman you must not give way to tempers. I am 
afraid even Gervaise, who is so fond of you, could not 
love a bad-tempered, quarrelsome being. Could you, 
Gervaise ?” 

The young fellow’s sweet nature asserted itself over 
his love of teasing. 

“She is not going to be bad-tempered, little darling 
as she is,” and he stooped and kissed her fondly. She 
was minded to draw away at first, but his smile was so 
winsome. 

“And see, Sylvie — I will dance with Angel ” 

“It is for Madame Henriade to find you partners. She 
will be your hostess. And it would be ill-bred to dance 
with one lady all the evening. Why, a man does not 
dance every time with his wife ; he would be laughed at !” 

Sylvie leaned her cheek down on Gervaise’s arm. She 
was relenting a little. Pere Lavalette was very delightful ; 
he had petted her, and Claire had brought her some de- 
licious little cakes. She would not want Gervaise laughed 
at before a whole room full of people. 

Viny had a great dish of fruit for them, and Barbe was 
full of interest about the frock. 

“It is very pretty,” replied Angel. “There is a fall of 
exquisite lace around the shoulders — fine Breton. And 
when I demurred, Madame said, laughingly, that the lace 
was only lent. Claire makes beautiful lace and she has 

88 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


promised to teach me. They are all so kind. And they 
will come down here for me.” 

Was Claire so kind ? Did Angel mean to like her very 
much? 

“Th e swing is put up properly,” said Viny. “It is so 
delicious and shady. Will you come? You can fly 
almost up to the tops of the trees like a bird.” 

Sylvie ran away eagerly. 

Gervaise paced up and down the veranda. Claire’s 
bewitching tones sounded in his ears, and he could see 
her soft, alluring eyes. It was the first time any one out 
of his own circle had moved him to admiration. 

“Angel,” pausing suddenly before her as she was 
mastering a difficult stitch in embroidery. “Angel, that 
marriage may prove to be an awkward thing after all. 
I suppose the Perrier estates were in the mind of the 
Marquise. What children we all were then? And now 
there may be no Du Chatilly, nor Brienne, either. But 
if Sylvie should grow up thinking, believing ” 

“She will understand presently. Barbe and I have de- 
cided to let her talk as little as possible about it. There 
is nothing but waiting until she is older.” 

“Of course — if I can find Hugh — and then suppose he 
should repudiate the matter? It was only by the priest, 
and we are not of that faith. Angel, who kept the con- 
tract — the parchment we all signed ?” 

Angelique looked up in surprise. “Why, I do not 
know. The priest rolled it up — I can see his long, thin 
fingers now,” and a shiver went over her. “Barbe must 
have it.” 

If Hugh should not be alive, and if Sylvie insisted — 
But he was quite free. There really was no question of 
honor or fidelity. 

Angel asked Barbe an hour or so later. 

89 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

“The parchment that we all signed ! And no one read 
it, either aloud or to himself. What a piece of work! 
I am quite sure the priest took it with him. But why 

he should want to It’s queer business and if Sieur 

Hugh comes to us it must be as he wills. A child’s 
fancy may change many times. Let us not worry. It 
is ill carrying loads to the top of the hill that are meant 
for the valley.” 

As for Angelique she looked simply ravishing in the 
white frock with the lace about her shoulders, and the 
broad sash that shortened the waist and gave an exquisite 
contour to the girlish bust. Viny, who was lady’s maid 
as well, had done her dark hair in a great coil on the top 
of her head and fastened a rose spray that drooped down 
on her shoulder. Sylvie was wild with delight, and 
danced about her with a child’s gayety. 

The house in the Rue Royale had all the windows 
aglow and sent golden gleams out through the veranda 
vines. In one comer were stationed the four violins 
that were discoursing sweet music even now. There 
were several rooms that could be thrown into one ; there 
was some grand faded furniture, and quaint old pictures 
in costumes of a hundred years agone. The floors were 
polished ; there was a wealth of flowers everywhere. 

Madame Henriade had been a widow for years. 
Married out of hand to a man she had only seen twice, 
she had, for seven years, been a docile wife. Since then 
she had revelled in her liberty, but it was not license. 
A little, brown, wrinkled elderly woman was her constant 
companion, and she had somehow wrested from society 
a certain right to entertain Americans as well as her com- 
patriots, the French, and the Spanish grandees beside the 
Creole gentlemen ; but she was careful not to clash. Every- 
90 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


body who came was suave and amiable under Madame’s 
laughing, languishing eyes, even if they quarrelled the 
next day in the street. To be invited was an honor no 
one thought of refusing. And having heard M. Lava- 
lette’s enthusiastic description of these refugees and the 
dangers they had passed, she must see the pretty girl and 
the attractive young man. 

Only two or three times in her young life had 
Angelique partaken of pleasures. Never quite like this. 
Even the elder women who had come with daughters and 
nieces were gay and vivacious, and had odd little stories 
to tell that were clean and wholesome and full of fun. 
For enjoyment was the watchword. Madame had the 
rare art of keeping her guests alive — of never allowing 
the interest to flag. Cards had more amusement here 
than elsewhere. But Madame never allowed gaming 
at these evenings. 

If Madame Lavalette was a delightful hostess, what 
word or commendation could do justice to Madame 
Henriade, the young fellow thought? There was some- 
thing magnetic in the touch of her hand. It was not 
lily-white — she was not fair herself — but of that soft hue 
which is not olive, but a kind of sun-brown, with the rich 
red blood shining through. The little hand was brown 
and dimpled, and had the softness of velvet. When she 
talked with it you could easily translate its meanings. 

“I am charmed to see you,” she said, with smiles in 
which you could feel the earnestness. “You have been 
quite a hero, in my mind.” 

“Indeed, I did nothing heroic,” he protested. “It was 
our good Dutch Captain who gave up all he had and 
beggared himself for our lives. And we just accepted.” 

“Then I should like to see him, too,” smiling. “It is 
9i 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


not so many who escape those terrible pirates. One can 
hardly believe any good of them. And your pretty 
cousin — how could they let her escape ?” 

“Oh, that was the captain’s thought, as well. Yes, he 
and Madame Champe engineered it through most suc- 
cessfully. But we might have perished even then if a 
kindly American captain had not seen our signal of dis- 
tress. It seems an adventurous world, Madame. And I 
have a still further quest on my mind. The cousin, who 
is the head of the house, is somewhere here in America 
and I must go in search of him.” 

“Ah, that is like the lost needle in the hay, unless you 
know. Ought I to give you my best hope? You are 
over young ” 

He laughed lightly. “How many of the explorers and 
discoverers were quite as young! Oh, Madame, there 
are such wonderful tales told of them that it fires one’s 
blood. Are the heroic times gone? Are the heroes in 
the graves of De Bienville, and Du Salle and Tonti?” 

“You shall come and talk of them some day and tell 
me of your cousin. Now, I must find the prettiest girl 
for you to dance with, for you have a dancing mark in 
your shapely figure.” 

“That would be impossible, Madame, where all are 
so pretty,” and he smiled as he made an inclination of 
the head. “But I asked the favor of Mademoiselle?* 
Claire ” 

“Ah, I see!” nodding in a satisfied way. “Mam’selle 
Claire is an astute general ; she leads. Go your way, then, 
and come back to me. Now I must provide for your 
cousin, who is French to her finger-tips.” 

Angelique already had some bees buzzing about the 
fresh sweetness. How fascinating it all was! Women 
in quaint and pretty gowns and soft laces; a sprinkling 
92 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


of officers, for though it was sometimes half suspected 
plots were hatched in the vine-clad corners and secrets 
leaked out, it could never be said that Madame evaded 
any courtesy due government officials. 

Ah, how delightful to dance with the fervor of youth ! 
Gervaise was thrilled with happiness in every pulse 
when Claire smiled upon him, which she did with such 
fascinating innocence. And when she danced with some 
one else he was plunged into momentary darkness and 
anguish. But then, here was another bewitching de- 
moiselle who talked her half-French with the sweetest 
Spanish accent, and mixed up both languages in a dis- 
tracting manner, while her soft dark eyes pleaded for in- 
dulgence. 

“1 must learn Spanish,” he announced, laughingly. 

“But you talk such exquisite French, M’sieu. We are 
always glad, for, see, it is to be the language of our be- 
loved province some day.” 

Gervaise shook his head. “There are all the French. 
And the Creoles — then the Americans ” 

“But they are English and ” she made a gesture of 

disdain. “They are pushing upstarts. Let them keep 
their side of the river. They cannot dance. They are 
boors !” 

The violins blew out some soft wailing notes on the 
perfumed air. The young girls went meekly back to 
mother and aunts with an air of having done their duty 
to their hostess. Ah, what beguiling demureness ! Then 
a preliminary flourish — another measure to thrill the 
pulses — and young men were beseeching again, young 
girls studying the faces of their chaperons, then floating 
off in waves of delight. 

The refreshments were of the simplest order. Small 
tables were brought out on the verandas, and the gay chat 


93 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


charmed the young fellow. There were girls besides 
Claire Lavalette, he found. 

“Was it very nice?” asked Sylvie of Angel the next 
morning. “Did you dance. And I hope Mam’selle 
Claire did not have any prettier frock than yours.” 

“It was beautiful — some thin pink stuff with black lace. 
And there were so many splendid frocks and fine ladies. 
Madame Henriade is enchanting, did you not think so, 
Gervaise?” 

“She is perfect, and so cordial. Barbe, we are asked to 
go and take a little dinner with her, quite by ourselves, 
and a walk. She is coming to pay you a call.” 

“Is she prettier than Madame?” 

“She is quite different. Madame Lavalette is im- 
posing; Madame Henriade is a little smaller, quite slim, 
indeed, and very graceful. And her hands really talk ; 
she can express so much with them. She is not fair, and 
real French, not Creole. They talk in a such a queer 
fashion and get their sentences mixed. But Madame 
Henriade is perfect.” 

Sylvie sighed to think she was not grown-up. 

“And does Claire dance beautifully?” 

“Yes,” answered Gervaise. “But they all do. I hope 
some one will ask us soon again. And did you remark 
that tall thin young Creole that danced twice with you, 
Angel? He is related to the brave young De Noyan, 
who was in the uprising against the Spanish in ’69. 
And to think that he had just married the lovely 
daughter of Lanfreniere. They tell such a pathetic 
story about him. Friends had planned for his escape, 
and, while the Governor General would not listen to any 
word of pardon, it was said he would wink at the flight. 
But heroic De Noyan replied that he would live and die 
with his associates, and that their only crime had been 


94 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


love of their own country. But he came of the De 
Bienville heroes.” 

“I liked him very much. I wonder they are not afraid 
to talk so plainly. Ah, how thoroughly French they are 
at heart! But there is something in the air — one can 
feel it.” 

It was a little curious that New Orleans should have 
struck the first blow against the Spanish power, and have 
dreamed of a republic in the New World. On the 
Atlantic coast there was disaffection among many of the 
colonies at the exactions of England, growing more 
burdensome, as the people expanded and imbibed the 
principles of self-government. And though the leaders 
of that long-ago episode paid the price in their lives, it 
was good seed well sown. All along here and there 
were Spanish settlements; they held Mexico and the 
islands of the Gulf, and many a fair land they had 
drenched in blood. A century and a half later their last 
stronghold was to be wrested from them, and the new 
nation to dominate the fairest portion of America, that 
holds romances enough for all time. 

“I wish you would talk about the pretty people, 
instead,” began Sylvie, petulantly. “And the Rue Royale 
sounds like a palace. Isn’t the Governor’s house a 
palace ?” 

Angelique laughed. “Not at all like Paris,” she 
answered. “Oh, Gervaise, do you suppose they will de- 
stroy those beautiful old places? I have not half seen 
Paris myself. And one can’t help dreaming that one 
day we shall all go back ” 

“No, I shall stay here,” declared the child. “I like the 
garden and the beautiful fields and the figs and apricots. 
And Father Antoine is so funny.” 

95 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Have a care lest Father Antoine converts you/’ said 
Gervaise, with teasing pleasantry. 

“I like Viny, but I told her I didn’t believe in the beads 
that she prays to. They are all saints. As if a saint 
would come and live in a bead ! Why, you could smash 
it all to fragments ; you could bury it in the ground, and 
then where would your saint be?” 

“You are a daring little rebel! But you know we 
agree to let other people think their way. And we knew 
many fine Catholics in France. Then, we have come 
here for refuge, in a certain way, and we must respect the 
laws and customs.” 

“You talk so — so grand I cannot understand you,” she 
returned, with an air of weariness that would have done 
credit to twenty. 

“But you must be a sweet little lady, or you will not 
grow up a big sweet one. They smiled so last evening, 
they said such pretty, gentle things ” 

“Well, if you want to like them so much better than 
you do me, because I am not big and nobody asks me to 
dances ” 

She was half crying as she flounced away. 

Gervaise bit his lip to keep from laughing, yet he 
looked grave and perplexed. She might deride Viny’s 
religion — Viny who was good-natured and adored her 
just as she had adored some others, that being a part of her 
business in life that slaves learned unconsciously; but 
Father Antoine ! He was learning that there was, after 
all, little real liberty of religion under the Spaniard. 
Emigrants who came were allowed their own faith rather 
grudgingly; children born in the province were to be 
baptized in the Church, and educated in the faith and the 
Spanish language. He had found some Huguenots who 
kept to the old faith, and who worshipped in their homes 

96 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 

and were not molested. But it was the Spaniard’s 
country. 

Gervaise caught Sylvie and turned her about. 

“You naughty little thing,” he said, good-humoredly. 
“Come, kiss and be friends. And you need not even be 
jealous of Mam’selle Claire. The bees hovered about 
her as if she had been made solid of M. de Bore’s sugar. 
I had only two dances that she promised beforehand.” 

“I am not jealous of — of anybody.” There were 
dainty little signs of her yielding. 

“And this afternoon we will all go out and see the queer 
things in the town. Angelique wants to do some shop- 
ping. And I heard Barbe say you must have some new 
frocks.” 

What feminine creature could resist that? She smiled 
and her pretty face dimpled. 

“Is it true?” she cried to Angelique. “Are we to go 
shopping?” 

“Yes. But we must get over some lessons first.” 

“Sylvie went cheerfully. In one corner of the veranda 
where the rain could be shut out by glass doors 
Angelique had arranged a pretty nest. Gervaise and 
Jaques had made her a very convenient desk out of 
some boxes, and a sewing stand with some shelves. The 
young fellow had picked up a few old books, and bor- 
rowed some of M. Lavalette. He was very much in 
earnest, learning both English and Spanish, and had 
found an old Frenchman, who kept a doctor’s office in 
order and gave lessons to eke out the small salary. In 
turn Gervaise imparted his knowledge to Angelique. 
And since there was no school for Sylvie, and a governess 
seemed beyond their reach at present, she taught her and 
found it a really pleasant occupation. 

There were some shops already in the principal streets, 
97 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


but those who knew did not depend altogether on these. 
The Spaniard had placed many restrictions on trade that 
were most vexatious, but there was an undercurrent that 
possibly was winked at, or a privilege paid for, perhaps. 
Goods of all kinds were smuggled in. There were so 
many ways in the innumerable bayous where a small boat 
could find shelter in the mass of over-hanging green, and 
take out bales and bundles adroitly covered by some one in 
waiting. It was not only the delta Creoles that coquetted 
with the pirate vessels at Barataria, which brought in 
rich stores from captured vessels, to be resold in the town 
under the very nose of the authorities. 

Madame Lavalette piloted them. Angelique had really 
seen nothing of the town. Here was the plaza, where. 
Almonaster had torn down the barracks after the sweep- 
ing fire and rebuilt the old Cabildo, now a handsome and 
pretentious edifice with arched doorways and broad 
paved space, or court, that led to the real entrance, and 
here old New Orleans , residents greeted each other and 
discussed business or news or pleasure, and watched the 
passers-by. It was two stories, with large circular-head 
windows and iron balconies, and an ornamental cornice 
rising high above. A little further on, two rows of stores 
built of brick with broad tiled roofs and dormer-windows, 
and gay and bright Spanish awnings. This was the 
fashionable retail quarter of the town, and remained so 
for years. 

From the Place d’Armes the streets gave a bright, busy 
aspect for a short distance, then subsided into dwelling 
houses of stucco, a few of brick and still many of wood. 
Some in the glory of new whitewash glaring in the yel- 
low sun; others toned down to all softened shades of 
ivory until almost brown. Here was the theatre, where 
ladies and children went of an afternoon. There were 
98 


A TASTE OF SOCIETY. 


women out promenading, the negro waiting-maid with 
fan and satchel walking gravely behind, now and then 
lifting Madame’s skirt over some puddle. Pretty, gayly 
attired children with their turbaned nurses, some of them 
ordering in autocratic style, or lading the black hands 
with fruit or budgets. Sylvie looked on entranced. 

“And now they came to a curious rambling row with 
the pitch of the roofs all one way, in some instances 
giving a sharp outline to the street, and a curious second- 
floor balcony at the side with a long, shaky stairs to the 
ground. Then a little one-story shanty, one would almost 
call it, only alongside, perhaps for two hundred feet, a 
high wall with a doorway and wire pickets on the top, 
half hidden by beautiful overhanging trees. Gay laughs 
and the tinkling of a guitar told of a charming house- 
hold in the flowered court so secluded. Then a dark, 
unpretentious one-story place with a window beside the 
door, where various stuffs were lying, faded by the 
morning sunshine. 

They walked through rather a narrow passage with a 
counter on one side where there were piles of common 
goods — gay ginghams, jeans, and Madras headkerchiefs 
(greatly admired by the better-class slaves and free 
women of color), coarse cottonades and muslins. 

“We want to inspect some of your nice goods, M’sieu 
Basnage,” said Madame Lavalette, and she led the way 
through an apartment that presented an appearance not 
unlike a modern junk-shop. This again opened on a sort 
of enclosed court that could be shut at will, but was now 
open to the garden, full of fragrant herbs and flowers. 

“Oui, oui, Madame ” answered the dark, wrinkled little 
man, whose black eyes sparkled as he rubbed his hands 
together. “Madame is mos’ welcome. And Madame’s 
frien’s,” glancing rather suspiciously. 

' L. of C. 99 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Yes. They are emegrees, who were taken by pirates, 
and lost all they had except a little that was left behind. 
Very nice, trustworthy people, M’sieu Basnage. ,, 

“Ah,” with a long, sympathetic intonation. “Dose 
pirates are terreeble,” and he shook his head lugubri- 
ously. “And dey haf anoder name not so bad — what 
you call — privateers? But it is sad, sad, Madame!” 

“So you must give us good bargains, M’sieu Basnage.” 

“Oui, oui” with a low obeisance. For Madame Lava- 
lette was one of his very best customers. 

Excellent bargains they certainly were, for Barbe had 
shopped not a little for her pretty young mistress, and 
made not a few purchases for the dead Marquise, and 
was a woman of experience. But Angelique was dazzled 
by the display of elegant goods, and no longer wondered 
at the handsome attire she had seen at Madame 
Henriade’s. M’sieu Basnage was very obliging, and ex- 
tremely moderate in his prices. Then, he would send the 
parcels home that very evening; and so they threaded 
their way through the narrow passage again, and almost 
held their noses at the smell of the commoner goods 
reeking with dye-stuffs. 

“Now I am going to the convent to see Zenobie. Little 
one, wilt thou not come and get thy heart’s desire?” and 
Madame smiled at Sylvie. 

The child’s heart was rent almost in twain. Curiosity 
to see the strange place swept over her like a great wave 
and almost brought out a smile of assent. But she was 
not going to like Zenobie, and she would not lend her 
small countenance to nuns or convents. So she stiffened 
her back. 

“Thanks, Madame, but not to-day. I will go home 
with tante Barbe.” 

“Oh, but you could all come. There are many visitors. 


ioo 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


Except — the young man/’ laughing with peculiar soft- 
ness. 

Sylvie took his hand. She was quite sure and safe in 
the protection of one who could not be allowed within. 

“Madame will excuse us now,” returned Barbe, in her 
quiet manner. “And accept our thanks. It has been a 
delightful excursion. We shall be most glad to renew it 
at some other opportunity.’’ 

Zenobie was doing very well, and would be confirmed 
next week. After her first communion she would come 
home as usual. There was a talk about the dress and 
veil, and then Zenobie was allowed a little walk in the 
garden with ma mere . The child was eager to hear about 
these new people who had stayed at Madame Milhet’s. 
For Laure had played off the beauty and sweetness of 
Angelique and Sylvie, and the charming young man. 

“Claire may like the young lady, Angelique,” she said 
to Laure afterward, “but I am just going to hate that 
little upstart, Sylvie! Nurse said she was cross to 
Felice, and she is a Huguenot — a bad, wicked girl, and I 
shall have nothing to do with her. You may like her as 
much as you please, Laure !” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 

A young man walked up the path — a good-looking, 
jaunty fellow of eighteen or so, quite mature, as Southern- 
ers are wont to be — and yet with all the charm of youth- 
fulness, a happy smiling face, curling black hair, and 


IOI 


r A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


dusky black eyes, with a soft shading on his short upper 
lip. He had a slender bamboo cane in his hand with 
which he switched the heads of some tall grasses. A 
mocking-bird in the hedge began a roulade, and he 
whistled an accompaniment. 

“Mo’sieu Aubreton — is he at home?” 

The voice was soft and rich. Jaques looked up from 
the young trees he was pruning and met the smile. Then 
he glanced up to the balcony. 

“Mam’selle Angelique, is Gervaise up there ?” 

“No,” answered the clear girl's voice. “He and Sylvie 
went for a walk.” 

“Will you be seated, M’sieu? I think he will be back 
presently.” 

“Which way did they go ?” 

“Down toward the creek, I believe.” 

“I will saunter on. I may meet him.” 

There was a path through the wilderness that some day 
might be made wide enough for a road. All manner of 
things were in a riotous tangle; there were many such 
places about. Sometimes the friendly Indians made a 
clearing and erected a wigwam, and all around the trees 
would be charred. Willowbrakes and reedy ponds, 
wild ducks, herons, and birds of almost every description 
settled themselves as soon as their natural enemies re- 
moved. Stray bands of Chickasaws, friendly enough if 
one did not trust them too far, or they were not incited 
by the English to venture upon depredations. Over 
westward, large plantations ; up above, settlements of 
Canadian French, or friendly English, who no longer felt 
bound to their own government — they had been neglected 
by it until their friendship was bought by the mighty 
hand of trade. 

Gervaise was very fond of rambling about. The great 


102 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


river on one side, the mighty lake on the other; the 
bustling activity, the busy crowds, were only a stone’s- 
throw, it seemed, from the quiet of this wilderness. 

Sylvie started up hosts of birds from the marshy wilds 
by throwing a stone or stick, and laughed to hear the 
screams and calls. 

“They are scolding back, ,, she cried, gleefully. “Oh, 
Gervaise, look at the beautiful white ones, with their long 
necks. And oh, the babies !” 

The two swans, with their progeny, were floating 
majestically on a space that widened out to a miniature 
lake. Great lilies were abloom at its edges — white, 
yellow, and a pinkish tint. They both stood silent. 

A curious, low, flute-like whistle startled Gervaise. 
He had already heard so many weird and horrible stories 
of runaway slaves, and treacherous Indians hiding in the 
morasses. But no — it might be some strange bird. 

“Is it some one calling to the swans?” inquired the 
child. For the head of the flock suddenly wheeled about, 
stretched out his long neck, and emitted a peculiar hissing 
sound through his pink bill. 

“A snake, more likely. Sylvie, I ought not have 
brought you here ” 

“And not to see the swans ! Oh, if I had some bread 
to feed them with !” 

“You couldn’t get near them. Come.” 

Sylvie gave a defiant curl to her lips and clasped her 
hands behind her. A figure appeared around the clump 
of willows. 

“Aha !” cried a merry voice. 

Gervaise smiled and advanced a few steps. 

“De Longpre,” he exclaimed. “Is it happy accident 
or design ? But you never could have followed our wind- 
ing way.” 


103 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Something of both. I went to your house. You see 
I can find my way easily. And as I came nearer I 
thought I heard voices. If you had been alone I should 
have gone straight up to Lavalette. 

He laughed a little as he said this, and Gervaise, in 
spite of himself, colored. 

“Your sister?” 

Sylvie had looked shyly out from under her broad hat. 

“No. There are three of us related, and not very 
nearly. I don’t know that I could trace it myself. 
Second or third cousins.” 

“Then is she not even Mademoiselle’s sister?” 

“No ; not even that,” was the answer. 

“I belong to Gervaise,” said the child, proudly, as she 
came and slipped her hand in his. 

“A pretty piece of property, truly. Six or eight years 
may tell a different story. I had an errand for fair, 
and it is wonderful that I should find you so easily. I 
am sent from Madame Henriade. She wishes to see you. 
It is to join a pleasure party.” 

“A pleasure party?” in joyous surprise. 

“Yes. You have not been down Point Grasse, Lake 
Pontchartrain. Madame has an old relative, General 
Vilaneuve. Report has it that he adores Madame; but 
he is quite old enough — no, perhaps not quite for a 
grandfather,” laughing gayly. “Every year he has a 
birthday. It makes one old too fast,” with an airy toss 
of the head. “When I am say — forty, I shall have a 
birthday only once in five years.” 

“Does a birthday make you older every time?” queried 
the child, who had been listening intently, and struck by a 
new thought. 

“I believe they have that bad habit.” 


104 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


“Then if you could have two in one year ” it was 

a new way of growing up, and pleased her. 

“It might do very well for little ones like you.’ , 

“That is what I want it for ; just for myself.” 

“And why do you want all these added years ?” 

Sylvie hung her head and glanced shyly at Gervaise, 
who gave a half frown. 

“But about this party?” began the young fellow. 

“Ah, Madame Henriade has to manage — what do you 
call it — chaperon it. And the General is fond of young 
people.” 

“I am such a stranger ” 

“She is giving you a chance. My fine fellow, I was 
jealous this morning when I heard her so enthusiastic. 
And I told her so. ‘M on fils’ she said, ‘have I not been 
considerate of you, finding pretty girls for your partners. 
And now you can choose for yourself.’ Which is true. 
She is charming.” 

Henri de Longpre did not add another of her com- 
mendations : “He is a young refugee; well-bred, well- 
mannered. We need every one to crowd out these push- 
ing Americans. We must bring him into our circle. He 
has the flavor of Paris.” 

Gervaise laughed with some embarrassment. 

“It was delightful — the evening at her house. She 
was most kind.” 

“And I am to bring you back with me.” 

“What ! — to the Rue Royale ?” 

“Yes, at once.” 

“Then I must return. You are quite mysterious. 
Come, Sylvie.” 

“No, there is no mystery. Only she does not wish the 
invitation to be quite second-hand. I merely come with 
105 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


the message. I proffered my services. Otherwise you 
would have had a little note sent by a messenger.” 

“Come, Sylvie,” he said again, without looking back, 
and took a few steps with De Longpre. 

Sylvie was affronted. She made a sudden plunge in 
the thicket. 

“Where is the child ? Sylvie !” 

She was shaking with mischievous laughter. From a 
little opening she saw him turn toward the pool, and look 
up and down, in perplexity. 

“Why, it is odd! One might easily get lost in this 
wild.” De Longpre glanced around. 

Gervaise was vexed. “Sylvie,” he cried, authorita- 
tively. “Come hither at once.” 

There was no answer. Then he began to stir among 
the bushes. De Longpre followed his example. 

“I have her. Here she is !” he cried. “Oh, you little 
Mischief ! You are a wood nymph wild.” 

The Mischief evaded his hand and ran. There was 
but one clear space, down to the little lake. Up around 
the side of it — she would lead them a chase, for she was 
fleet as a deer. 

Alas ! the path was clear, to be sure. But just as she 
turned, her foot caught in a root that had been washed bare 
by frequent inundations, and the impetus sent her face- 
downward in the pool, just as an instant more he must 
have caught her frock. 

The splash startled the swans and there was a great 
outcry. The water that had been tolerably clear was a 
muddy ooze. 

“Just here, Aubreton. Oh, she does not rise. She is 
fast in something. Here, I will wade out ” 

“No, no !” Gervaise stepped into the water. 

106 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


“Take this stick. It may be deeper than you think, 
and these places are treacherous.” 

Aubreton felt his way carefully, ‘and then touched 
something that was still making a swirl in the water. 
He stooped and brought up Sylvie, but she did not even 
struggle. 

“Oh, my God, she cannot be dead all in a moment,” 
he cried, holding up a drooping figure. 

“Wash off her face. She went down in the soft mud. 
And she may have struck something.” 

With the skirt of her frock Gervaise washed the mud 
from eyes and mouth and clinging hair ; but she lay there 
limp and still. He chafed the little hands. What did 
one do to a drowned person ? 

“Let us take her home as soon as possible.” 

Gervaise looked at his friend’s white suit and the 
muddy burden before them. 

“No,” he said. “Go as quick as you can and bring 
M’sieu Jaques, and — a hammock. Meanwhile, I may 
bring her to.” 

De Longpre was off like a flash. Gervaise took off 
the pretty apron that had been white but a moment ago, 
and washed it tolerably clean; then bathed her, chafed 
her, rolled her over on a grassy spot. There was no 
bruise on her forehead. Her nose was full of the soft 
ooze; her mouth he had already washed out. Oh, what 
if she were dead — the dear, pretty little thing! and he 
kissed her tenderly — put his hot, flushed cheek to hers. 
Was that a sigh ? Then there was a sudden red flash — 
gone in a moment — but it gave him hope. Her heart 
was beating. There was a little flutter in her neck and 
the eyelids — another sigh. 

“Sylvie, Sylvie,” he cried, with ardent longing. 

She was not dead. The sudden quivers ran over her 
107 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and stopped; started again. Then she opened her eyes 
— beautiful as the sky above. 

“Angel ” she murmured. Then a moment or two 

she studied Gervaise, and struggled to rise. 

“Oh, what is the matter? What makes me so wet and 
cold ? And I feel so queer,” with a great, rending shiver. 

He had not the heart to scold her, though she richly 
deserved it. The sweet face was so pitiful. 

“You fell into the pool ” 

“Oh, oh ! Gervaise ” she threw herself in his arms, 

and began to cry in a heart-breaking fashion. 

He tried to comfort her by endearing terms such as 
Barbe used. But she sobbed on until she was quite 
exhausted, and looked pale as a lily. He was half afraid 
after all. And in all his glowing young life he had never 
seen any one really die — though the Marquise had some- 
times looked dreadful, but not in this lily-whiteness. 

He cuddled the wet little thing in his arms and hushed 
her with a soft, low sound that was not singing. She 
went fast asleep, so soundly — and he was not sure it was 
right; he must study up on some of these things — that, 
when Jaques and the hammock came, they put her 
in it without even waking her, while he was briefly tell- 
ing over the adventure. 

“I would not let your friend come, for he really was 
exhausted. Barbe took him in hand. What a sight you 
are, to be sure, Master Gervaise !” 

“Master!” Gervaise laughed and Jaques colored. 

“Yes. Luckily we do not have to go over public 
ways. Though I have seen people quite as bad down 
on the levee, and they did not seem to mind it.” 

“No doubt. To my thinking, all the mud in the world 
must have been gathered up and dumped here. How do 
108 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


you suppose it is, over on the other coast — the States or 
Colonies? And though Amsterdam, and some of the 
other Dutch places are very wet, it is a clean sort of wet. 
I should not have built my town hereabouts/’ 

They shouldered their burden, and went their way. 
It was very warm now. Once Gervaise insisted on stop- 
ping to see if Sylvie was still alive. That roused her. 

“Oh, what are you doing?” she cried. “And where 
have I been? I feel stiff and cramped. Let me get out 
and walk. I won’t be carried like a baby !” 

She made it quite impossible for them to carry her and 
they put her down. They were nearing home, so they 
yielded. She looked at her muddy frock, her wet shoes 
and stockings; and her face was scarlet with shame as 
remembrance rushed over her. 

“Gervaise,” softly, and with compelling sweetness, 

“was I very naughty? I ran a little ways — I — I ” 

and the tears gathered in her lovely pleading eyes again. 
They were enough to undo any one. 

“You did not mean to fall in the pool ! I can believe 
you there. Perhaps that was the punishment for running 
away when I called you to come. That was the 
naughtiness.” 

The charming penitence faded a little in her face, and 
the lips, red enough, now quivered. 

“We were going to have the whole morning, you know 

— you said so. And then he ” nodding her head 

toward the house. 

“You jealous little baggage !” laughingly. 

“I shall not like him. And if he takes you away ” 

“I am going myself, willingly,” with a touch of stern- 
ness. 

“Oh, you do not like me when you meet other people. 

109 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


And yet I cannot help loving you. There is no one else 
but Angel and Barbe. Jaques does not care much for 
little girls. And Viny is black ” 

“I love you when you are not naughty. You are very 
sweet when you are good. And I am not sure I could 
have saved you but for De Longpre. I was sorely in need 
of help.” 

“Saved me!” There was an incredulity in the eyes, 
and the whole face made a protest. 

“Yes. You went down in the soft mud, on your face. 
You would have strangled very soon. Then you would 
have died.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to die,” shivering with terror. 
“And there are horrid snakes, and — are there any 
alligators ” 

“Not there, dear. Do not think of it.” 

“And did you jump in after me? That is why you 
are so wet and muddy. Oh, I am so glad!” and she 
seized one hand with both of hers, pressing rapturous 
kisses on it. 

He felt a little sorry and annoyed at the eager grati- 
tude, and the utter lack of penitence. 

“Oh, I can’t go up that way!” she cried, suddenly. I 
look like — oh, a thousand times worse than that — what 
was it sat on a rock and combed her hair? You were 
reading about it ! Jaques, run and open the side gate — 
I won’t go and meet everybody ” 

“Yes, do, if you please, Jaques.” Gervaise did not 
exactly care to meet everybody either. There was a 
gate in the high fence always fastened on the inside. 

Jaques went, and they two walked rapidly down to 
the place — almost hidden by trees and vines. They 
could hear the sound of voices on the lower veranda. 

Angelique and Viny hurried along with Jaques. 
no 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


“I’ve said a good dozen times I’d grease this old bolt 
with something, if no more than a pork rind. And now 
I’ll do it this very day,” said Jaques, tugging at the 
rusted bar. 

It flew back suddenly and nearly tipped over the man, 
who paused to catch his breath. 

De Longpre’s story had been very vivid, with much 
Spanish translated into French, which made it seem 
more voluble and added to the possibilities of danger. 
Angelique clasped the little girl to her heart now with a 
transport of gratitude ; and Viny’s patois was picturesque 
and pathetic with much invocation of saints. 

“But I’m so wet and muddy,” and Sylvie began to cry, 
looking at them helplessly. 

“There, dear, you shall be bathed and dressed ” 

Viny picked her up in her arms and ran up the back 
staircase, uttering words of endearment with every 
breath. 

Gervaise meanwhile made himself presentable, and 
joined his friend, who had been explaining his errand 
and his excuse for carrying off the young man at once. 

“Don’t be too indulgent with Sylvie,” he said now, 
with his usual gayety. “She is very wilful and heed- 
less.” 

Barbe could not forbear kissing her as if she had been 
snatched from some great peril. 

“But you were a very naughty little girl to make so 
much trouble and cause such a fright ! I’m sure I hardly 
know what should be done to you. You ought to be 
punished in some way.” 

“I didn’t mean to fall in the pool, dear Barbe,” and 
her soft arms were about the elder’s neck — her rose-leaf 
cheek, with the delicacy of childhood, pressed against the 
mature one. “Something caught my foot. And, oh, 


hi 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Barbe, there were such beautiful swans — baby swans. I 
should like to have them caught and brought here. I 
do not believe they belong to any one else. And such 
great lilies !” 

“But if there had been no one, you would never have 

risen to the surface ” and Barbe shuddered at the 

thought of her beautiful darling buried in the muddy 
pool — torn and disfigured by reptiles. 

“Ah, but I wouldn’t have run then. And we often 
play at running away — Gervaise and I. He lets me 
catch him, for his legs are so long he could get away — 
couldn’t he?” 

“Child, child, what a bother you are! What shall I 
do with you? When I was a little girl, I was whipped 
when I had been naughty.” 

Sylvie looked very grave ; and after a moment’s pause, 
said, with bewitching gentleness : 

“You may whip me if you want to, Barbe, but I don’t 
believe Gervaise would like it. And — at the convent — • 
they kneel on the hard stones and say ever so many 
prayers, and only have bread and water. Barbe,” with 
sudden energy, “I will sew all the afternoon and not 
break my needle nor put in long stitches. And you know 

I hate to sew ” There was a piteous strand in her 

voice, and a pleading light in her eyes. 

“That will be excellent. I should be sorry to have 
you worse than the little Catholic girls, when your re- 
ligion is so much better.” 

“But there are such beautiful saints, Barbe ” 

“And we have saints, too. Oh, child, no end of saints 
and martyrs, as you will learn some day. But we do not 
pray to them. God is taking care of them, and they have 
no more sorrow in heaven. We must thank God for that, 


II 2 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


and be brave and good ourselves — then we shall meet 
them. And your blessed mamma.” 

They went to the dining-room. Viny was setting out 
dishes of fruit, and various confections from Marti’s 
skilful hands. Angelique was looking over a Spanish 
primer. She held out her arms. 

“We must remember it was largely her own fault,” 
remarked Barbe, severely. 

“But we are glad to have her back, and not much the 
worse.” Angelique was strangely moved by the beauti- 
ful, beseeching light in the eyes and the dazzle of the 
golden brown lashes — the small mouth that seemed all 
aquiver with emotion. 

“And I am going to be so good — you will see; I shall 
sew all the long afternoon.” 

“The meal is ready, Madame,” announced Marti. 

The meals had rather puzzled Barbe. At Brienne they 
had been following the earlier Court fashion; luncheon 
was at eleven and dinner at two, with an elaborate supper 
at six. Here that meal was often called dinner. 

“Where is Gervaise?” asked Sylvie, rather timidly. 
“Oh, has he gone with M’sieu de Longpre ?” 

“I wonder — if ladies are tabooed?” Angelique gave 
a half vexed, half ironical laugh. 

“Then ManTselle Claire cannot go. It is a great 
house on a lake, and there is to be sailing and dancing; 
I heard them talking. Will the young men dance to- 
gether? That would be funny !” 

“Not any more than girls dancing together.” 

“And they do at the convent. There are no men or 
boys. But Laure doesn’t dance. She thinks it sinful 
in any one who is going to be a nun ! Oh, I am glad I am 
not to be a nun! It must be very dreary just to teach 

113 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


children, and count beads, and say prayers, and not to 
think anything but grave thoughts.” 

“There are plenty of other things. They take care 
of the sick in the hospital ; they visit the poor and teach 
them how to keep their houses and bring up their chil- 
dren. I am not saying all of the adoration is right ; and 
I never could believe beads had any virtue as a go-be- 
tween you and God — or relics, or bones of dead peo- 
ple ” said Barbe. 

“I don’t understand” — and a knot of thoughtfulness 
gathered in Angelique’s forehead — “why we were all to 
be taken to the convent ! The Catholics had no right to 
Brienne.” 

“Jaques heard the plot.” Barbe raised her brows and 
glanced at Sylvie underneath her droopiqg lids. “There 
was another priest who came with Father Mambert, and 
they talked in the end of the corridor — as I told you. 
Jaques did not set out to listen, but he thought he had a 
right when he heard part of their plan. Whether that 
ceremony was of any account — well, we cannot tell until 
Sieur Hugh comes back,” and Barbe sighed. 

A quick throb of delight warmed Angelique’s heart 
and sent a rosy glow to her face. More than once she 
hugged the hope to her inmost soul that Hugh de Brienne 
would repudiate it utterly. 

“Things were beginning to be so disturbed, you know. 
Ah, yes, it is a good thing to be out of it all, and let all 
the fine estates go;” yet Barbe sighed. “Only, there 
really is no new France. The English have taken Canada, 
and all the colonies are united, it seems ; and here we are 
under Spanish rule. Sometimes I think La Belle France 
will go straight on to destruction, as that grand old Rome 
did that had once conquered nearly the whole world.” 

Sylvie was interested in the deft and pretty fashion 
1 14 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


that Viny was preparing her orange, and crusting it 
over with sugar. Then, she could pull the skin off the 
plums so dexterously that the child laughed to see the 
pale green mass with pink and purple veins lie tempt- 
ingly on her plate. 

“I never thought much about the government of 
countries,” Angelique began, with an awed air. “It is 
such a strange, big world; it frightens me. And one 
can see so much prosperity depends on the wisdom of 
rulers.” 

“But women are not to govern it, child. That is the 
business of men. They study it out.” 

“But women have governed kings, even, and made 
them do many unwise things,” said the girl, sadly. 

Some of the unwise things, as well as the women, were 
not to be discussed with a young girl. Barbe was silent. 

“Angel, did you think M’sieu de Longpre handsome ?” 
Sylvie crowded down the last sweet morsel of plum, but 
her voice had a rather smothered sound. 

“Very good-looking — yes. And elegant manners.” 

“Handsomer than Gervaise?” 

“Why — that is quite largely as one thinks. Why do 
you wish for a comparison ?” 

“What is a comparison ?” 

“I believe it is examining the relations of things, with a 
view of discovering their likeness or unlikeness ; and 
whether one is better than the other.” 

Sylvie stared, and was swamped in thought for some 
seconds. 

“Gervaise is best,” she said, triumphantly, “so, of 
course, he must be the handsomer. Laure talked of 
M’sieu de Longpre. His name is Henri. He has a 
sister — Hortense.” 

“It is highly improper for little girls to talk so much 

115 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


about young men. If that is what they learn in con- 
vents ” 

“And then they have to do penance.’' 

“Miss Laure is not a good companion for you. I hope 
Mam’selle Zenobie will be better.” 

“Ah, but I am not going to like Zenobie.” 

“You are a spoiled child. I wish we could find a 
gouvernante for you. You need some training,” re- 
turned Barbe, sharply. 

But she was very good all the afternoon. She sewed, 
and it was a great hardship; she read a Spanish lesson, 
and then she went out in the garden with Viny and 
listened to tales of the Indians, that certainly were not as 
pleasant as talks about the young men. 

It was dusk when Gervaise returned. They had not 
only had a talk and an elegant refreshment of fruit, but 
they , had strayed about the old town and learned many 
queer things. They had been through the Cabildo ; and, 
as it was Friday, the Governor was present, as there were 
some important matters on hand. The Alcaldes had the 
ordinary small trials in their chambers — little disputes 
and debts. But to-day, the scene was quite imposing by 
the presence of the Al feres Real , or Royal Standard- 
bearer, which was still held by that public-spirited Don 
Almonaster. Below him sat various officers, in all the 
pomp and grandeur of their gorgeous robes. And though 
Gervaise could not follow the subject in hand, he thought 
the judicial robes very imposing. 

“And, to-morrow, there will be some marionettes at the 
theatre, to gratify the women and children,” he said. 
“The little old theatre is not very grand, but they have 
some quite good things, I hear. The men go mostly in 
the evening.” 

“But what are ” Sylvie looked puzzled. 

116 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


“Marionettes ? A kind of puppets or dolls, managed 
by wires, and they do many funny things. You would 
like to go ?” smiling to her. 

She looked askance at Barbe. 

“She doesn’t deserve it,” said Barbe. 

Sylvie glanced up with pleading eyes. 

“Angelique will like it, too — will you not, Angel ?” 

To go to a theatre was something quite new. Ange- 
lique’s face was almost as eager as Sylvie’s. 

“To-morrow, then. And so many are out that after- 
noon. Then, we must take some sails and some drives. 
Oh, there is so much to see,” with enthusiastic youth- 
fulness. 

“And Madame Henriade — what was the plan?” 

“That is ten days off. Oh, it is going to be quite 
grand. And I was to ask you, Barbe, what day, early in 
the week, it would please you to receive Madame?” 

Barbe looked startled. Being the head of the family, 
when one had not been born to the purple, had its draw- 
backs. 

“Oh, you need not look frightened, my good Barbe. 
Madame is charming and affable, and French,” laugh- 
ingly. “I wonder that Spain can really hold the country. 
And on the Bayou Teche there is a settlement called Little 
Paris. We must go and see that. Perhaps if we do 
settle, we may prefer that.” 

“But we ought to know about Sieur Hugh.” 

The search did not appeal so strongly to Gervaise as 
it had a fortnight ago. After various vicissitudes, 
Michigan had become a part of the colonies ; and Detroit, 
where Cadillac’s brilliant dream of a great city had 
clothed itself in possibility, was no longer French, but a 
mixture of all settlers. And to search for Hugh seemed 
an almost useless proceeding. He would not say so now ; 
ii 7 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


it might look idle and cowardly. So he only gave a sigh 
of acquiescence. 

The little old theatre went its way long ago, yet it had 
some gay triumphs in its day. Gaming was the great pas- 
time for the men, as dancing and balls were for the 
young and the women. Of balls there were all 

sorts, from the fine private affairs that were very select, 
through numerous gradations where halfbreeds con- 
gregated, and indulged in drinking and fighting. 
Intellectual amusement there was none, although 

there were some fine families and educated house- 

holders who had valuable libraries. But Spain had 
never been famous for the higher advancement of 

her people, and though the colony, in some respects, 
had been more profitable than under the earlier French 
auspices, the inhabitants felt that it had been a conquest ; 
and they were in the hands of a power they detested. 

The theatre was largely filled with women and chil- 
dren, many attended by the colored nurse, and most of 
them decked out in their best attire. As for the plays, they 
were of the puerile sort — pantomime, with amusing in- 
cidents ; fights, baffling each other, gaining an advantage, 
laying traps, yet everything having a mirthful sequence 
that called forth much merriment ; even the worsted and 
left-for-dead on the field coming to life again. 

There were so many pretty, bright-eyed children that 
Angelique enjoyed the audience more than the plays. 
Then, there were dances, with an accompaniment of 
banjos; some Spanish songs. French had been inter- 
dicted five years before, when “La Marseillaise” had been 
shouted out with wildest enthusiasm, amid much waving 
of handkerchiefs, the whole audience rising to their feet. 
Carondelet had arrested many and exiled some, and 
rebuilt the fortifications, as well as erecting a large battery 
118 


NAUGHTY SYLVIE. 


where Toulouse Street opened on the river front, ostensi- 
bly to protect the city from outside enemies, but also to 
be turned upon the inhabitants, if need occurred. 

De Longpre had joined them. 

“You look none the worse for your adventure, 
Mam’selle,” he said, with a merry smile lurking in his 
eye. “And I was afraid you would hardly come out of 
it successfully. Did you get scolded for being so wil- 
ful ?” 

Sylvie flushed and hung her head. After a pause she 
replied : “They were all very good to me.” 

“Ah, who could help being good to you, with eyes like 
that !” he declared. 

Sylvie flushed, with a rather awkward feeling, not be- 
ing hardly old enough, or sufficiently used to compli- 
ments, to accept gracefully. 

“I was very naughty,” she commented. 

“But you will confess, to-morrow, and that will restore 
all things.” 

“I said I was sorry to Tante Barbe, and Angelique,” 
she replied, gravely. “I am not a Catholic.” 

“But you will be one presently.” 

“I shall not be a Catholic or a Spaniard,” and she held 
her head up very straight. 

Outside it was darkening up already. There were 
some lanterns and some pine torches; for, as yet, there 
were no street lights, though soon afterward the Gov- 
ernor had them put up on different corners, and in the 
public places. 

Negro women were selling spiced cakes and candied 
fruit ; and some who had a large patronage were making 
a savory smell, frying sancisse, which they deftly rolled 
in a slice of bread and supplied the crowd. And though 
flowers were blooming everywhere, there were girls sell- 
119 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


in g nosegays, and young men buying them; Indian 
women vending their wares, also calamus and sassafras 
buds. 


CHAPTER IX. 

COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 

Madame Lav alette invited them all to the chapel to 
see the confirmation. It was a saint’s day. There 
would be a procession; and the girls, gowned in white, 
with wreaths and veils, marching to the slow music, and 
singing, — “not as grand as our Easter or Whitsunday, 
but well worth hearing,” she explained. 

Barbe was too stanch in her faith to so much as step 
over the sill of any of their chapels ; and as for the mum- 
meries of the nuns, with their praying to saints, and carry- 
ing about relics — she would have none of it. Gervaise had 
already softened. Claire Lavalette’s entreating eyes that 
could look so serious and so persuasively sweet, had 
gained not a little power over him. And Madame Henri- 
ade, with most noble and patriotic sentiments, was a 
Catholic. 

“Oh, yes, you will come and bring Mam’selle Saucier,” 
she said. “There will be some very sweet music. And 
it is a pretty sight. Only there were so many before; 
and we did so regret Zenobie could not be with them. 
It was such a provoking illness; not dangerous at all, 
but she could not hold up her head. And your pretty 
little cousin ! Oh, yes, you must all consent.” 

He did his best to persuade Angelique. And though 


120 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 

she had an inward quaking terror of priests and Jesuits, 
and could not get over the mystery of their sudden de- 
parture from France, she had a girl’s curiosity to see the 
ceremony. Then, the Lavalettes had been most kind to 
them, and they, alas ! were in the Spaniard’s country. 

Sylvie declared at first she would not go, and clung 
to Barbe. But she hated to be left out; and when she 
saw Angelique tying her lace scarf over her head, she 
suddenly flew to Viny, who had her dressed in a trice. 

The chapel of the Ursulines was very plain. The 
church was, as yet, unfinished, but they held high services 
in it. They went in the chapel with the Lavalettes. 
There was group of kneeling girls, who were chanting 
in unison with the nuns, behind the screen. The music 
was very devotional. It died away into silence that was 
impressive. Then a priest, in his robes, came through a 
narrow door, followed by two nuns; and, when he had 
reached the aisle, the girls rose slowly and followed them, 
two and two, their faces downcast, their veils floating 
around them, crowned with their flower-wreaths — white 
down to their dainty slippers. 

The relatives walked behind them into the church, and 
were seated. The prayers were in Latin; the service, in 
Spanish. And, when it was all through, the procession 
re-formed, and marched out on the plaza. Now began 
the gala time. A few fireworks were set off with great 
care; they had learned their lessons well about fires. 
Flags were flying; flowers were showered on the little 
group of white angels, flanked by friends, that they 
should not be jostled. Spanish ejaculations and wishes 
were uttered with the “Grace a Dios” of the French. But 
what began rather reverently at first was presently given 
over to jollity. When the procession had retired to the 
convent, the cabarets filled up; the crowds in the street 


121 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


grew noisier; young men sent bouquets up to the bal- 
conies, where they had friends lingering in the corners. 

“It was a grand thing,” said Laure to Sylvie. “But I 
am glad to wait until Easter ; it is so much grander. And 
you have a much larger procession. Now Zenobie will 
go home, but I can tell you she has made up her mind 
she will not like you.” 

“As if I cared ! Henri de Longpre is going to bring 
his sister. He is sure she will like me.” 

“What! — Hortense?” gasped Laure. “And when did 
you see Henri ?” 

“Oh, he has been at the house!” Sylvie’s air would 
have done credit to the woman, rather than the child, and 
it nettled Laure. “And, one day we were out — I was 
walking with Gervaise. He and my cousin went to a 
dance; and they are going somewhere — to Lake Pont- 
chartrain.” 

“And you ? Do you go with them ?” 

“Oh, I am only a little girl. But I went to the theatre. 
It was very funny.” 

“Oh, yes, Zenobie goes. And Hortense. If I had a 
brother I would go, too.” And at that moment Laure 
hated the thought of being a nun. She examined Sylvie’s 
gown critically. It was fine and trimmed with lace. 
Sylvie’s hair was tied up high with a pretty ribbon, and 
she looked like a lady. Yet she had been wrecked, and 
lost everything, and was an emigree from France — a new- 
comer ! A new-comer, who would make friends with the 
best and the rich. A wave of ungovernable jealousy 
swept over her. And not a Catholic! Not caring for 
the Church, nor worshipping the good, sorrowing Virgin, 
who had held her little baby to her breast many a time 
before the days of anguish came. 


122 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 


The flash went out of the eyes; the features suddenly 
turned serious, the corners of the mouth drooped. 

“What changes you so, Laure? A moment ago you 
looked — I was almost afraid of you.” 

“I was very wicked, Mam’selle. I am going to do 
penance ” The lips were sharply set. 

“And you call me ‘Mam’selle’ ” Sylvie laughed 

softly. 

“Yes. I ought always. When you first came, no one 
quite knew. Mere Milhet did not think you had much 
money — after the pirates — and everything. And now 
you are rich and go with the grand people ” 

“It is very queer. But you knew them all, first.” 

Sylvie looked much mystified. 

“Ah, yes — but — I am not of their kind. When we 
are in church, it is all one — the rich people beat their 
breasts, and cry mea culpa; and at school it is alike. 
But I could not be Zenobie’s friend at her house,” she 
paused; she was still too proud and angry to say “nor 
yours.” 

Sylvie understood in her heart. She was very sorry. 
It was not altogether money; they were not rich like the 
Lavalettes and Madame Henriade — but everybody was 
glad to ask Gervaise to their pleasures and entertain- 
ments. 

“And so, you see, if I am a nun, I shall have respect 
with the best of you.” Laure straightened herself with 
a sense of triumph. 

But, ah ! how hard the pleasures of the world knocked 
at the wayward little heart ! Already, from one and another, 
she had learned about them. There were several ball- 
rooms — perhaps not quite, with a mysterious emphasis 
on the word — where women went under cover of satin 


123 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


masks, and laughed and danced and coquetted, and 
had compliments paid them and lovers sighing over 
them. Laure knew one girl — she was not in school now, 
but soon to be married — who, it was said, had been a 
paid dancer at the Salle de Conde, where quadroons of 
the better class, women, handsome as houris, were to be 
seen. Therese had gone with her mother and her lover ; 
and told wonderful stories of the gayeties, until some of 
the tales leaked out, when she was seriously reprimanded, 
and left the convent, because she was so soon to be mar- 
ried. The lover was a tall handsome fellow, with blue 
eyes and red-brown hair, and had some business in the 
Floridas. Was the mandate of the Church everything? 
Were not Sylvie and Mam’selle Angelique happy, and 
troubled with no qualms of conscience over what they 
did, because there was no confession in their church? 
Church, indeed ! It was no church at all, a's they would 
find, when they knocked at the gate, and had one glance 
from Saint Peter’s eye. 

Sylvie’s tender little heart pitied her. 

Madame Henriade came to call. Madame Champe 
was gracious and dignified. She understood that she must 
play her part well, for Angelique’s sake. When Mon- 
sieur Hugh came, they would go away somewhere else, 
and begin a new life ; perhaps back to France, when the 
trouble was over. For Barbe firmly believed that a new 
king would arise from some of the royal branches, and 
rule again with majesty. This rabble, called a Republic, 
where every man had a right to order, passed her com- 
prehension. 

Once Madame Lavalette had incidentally made some 
reference to her relationship with Angelique. 

“No, it was not that way,” and a heightened color 
came to Barbe’s cheeks. “It was Sylvie’s mother, 


124 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 


though the Du Chatilly’s are all of the same strain. My 
mother died, and we were like sisters after that. She 
married Captain Perrier, and, though I married, we were 
never separated. When she died, I went to Brienne with 
Sylvie; for her brave husband had been killed in battle. 
And, as the Marquise was ill, I had to take charge.” 

“Ah, it is on the Du Chatilly side, then ?” 

“Yes, Madame. And Angelique has the same strain; 
Gervaise also, though he is nearer, and, after the Sieur 
Hugh, he is the next heir — if there is any estate left,” 
with a sigh. 

Madame Lavalette was secretly pleased that these were 
all aristocratic people, if they were Huguenots. And, 
mother-like, she thought of future chances. The fortune 
left behind in Amsterdam had enlarged, to M. Lavalette’s 
eyes. There was Zenobie, soon to grow up. This 
pleasantry with Claire meant nothing. Gervaise was too 
young; and as soon as an eligible parti offered himself, 
that would all be arranged. Girls were trained in those 
days to respect their parents’ wills. 

After Madame Henriade had really charmed Barbe 
by her sweet manner, partaken of some refreshment and 
a delightful drink that Marti could concoct to perfection, 
had petted Sylvie, and praised Angelique’s needlework, 
the plan of the little journey was laid before Madame 
Champe. 

The General always gave a large party on his birth- 
day. She had known him years and years; and, while 
gossip sometimes suggested there was more than friend- 
ship in the acquaintance, there was not. She was well 
satisfied with her own position; as for the General, his 
had been a sad story, indeed, when wife and children had 
been lost in one of the slave insurrections in San 
Domingo. But he was fond of young people, though he 
125 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


paid not much attention to young demoiselles; so the 
choosing of that part of the guests was generally rele- 
gated to her, and she performed it satisfactorily. 

“For you know,” she said, with her soft, melodious 
laugh, “the young men cannot smoke and talk and shoot, 
all the time. Our young men are passionately fond of 
dancing with pretty girls. Indeed, I shall never outgrow 
the taste myself; and it would be a strange girl, indeed, 
whose feet did not answer in little pats to the inspiriting 
notes. Madame Lavalette will give your niece a mother’s 
watchfulness; she has a charming daughter of her own. 
And I beg of you to accept this invitation for her. It 
will be three days, and she will see so much. They will 
be full of delight. The General will admire her; I can 
answer for that. My dear,” to Angelique, “he is one 
of the most charming and fatherly of old men. It is a 
great pity he has not sons, whose wives could share the 
glory of his beautiful home.” 

Angelique Saucier felt delighted, and, perhaps, a little 
flattered by Madame’s manner. She had not expected to 
be invited when Gervaise had made no suggestion of it ; 
then, she had only seen Madame once. There was a 
vague little hope that Madame Lavalette might have 
something to say about it. But this was very compli- 
mentary. Madame would not have committed such an 
overt breach as sending her message second-hand. 

“Thank you, Madame,” and Angelique rose and made 
her graceful courtesy. Then she glanced at Barbe, 
who took her cue at once. 

“Thank you, Madame, for the honor and favor. And, 
if Madame Lavalette does not consider it too much trou- 
ble — Angelique, you would like to go? And there will 
be Gervaise.” 

“I should like it above all things,” said the girl, in her 
pretty, modest fashion. 


126 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 

“Then, I may announce to Madame Lavalette. I must 
go at once. You have been so agreeable I hardly knew 
how the time was passing. M’sieu Aubreton, will it 
please you to escort me thither? I am old enough now 
to confess to a fondness for young men.” 

Gervaise was delighted, and rose with his best bow. 

Madame made a charmed atmosphere about herself 
that lingered like the fragrance of some flowers. 

“She is very lovely,” confessed Angelique, with a sigh ; 
though why she sighed she could not have told. Youth 
has so many satisfactions of its own that it seldom really 
envies, unless deprived of some delight it strongly covets ; 
and it would not often change with middle life. 

Gervaise attended Madame; and while she planned 
with Madame Lavalette, Gervaise sauntered to the end 
of the veranda and talked to Claire, who now and then 
raised her eyes with a beguiling light that brought a 
curious heat to the young man’s cheeks, and a quiver to 
his pulse. 

“You will like to go?” 

Her voice was soft — more of assurance than inquiry. 

“Oh, yes. I have just looked at the beautiful lake. 
It is like a sea. And such banks of verdure! I shall 
be delighted.” 

“Sailing parties often go out — rowing parties — but, 
then the slaves are de trop, and if the young men 


“What then?” smiling out of amused eyes. 

“Oh, they cannot play the guitar. And music is so 
enchanting on the water. The lake is lovely. The river 
— ah, bah !” with a gesture of disdain. 

“But there are little streams, and nooks about. I used 

to be very fond of rowing. And, at twilight ” 

“Do not attempt it,” she interrupted, quickly. “Take 
127 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

the day. There are so many winds and turns in the 
bayous; and, if the fog comes up — oh, it is terrible!” 

Her face was so full of solicitude that he could almost 
fancy himself lost in the marsh-fog. 

“I should not go alone. De Longpre and I were talk- 
ing about it. And a journey up to the Indian encamp- 
ment.” 

“They are friendly now, but — do not trust them too 
far. They have been very cruel.” 

“But I have a real journey to make ; and I shall doubt- 
less meet some of them. I ought to do that instead of 
pleasuring.” 

“Nay, take the pleasure first.” 

Her charming smile would have lured even an older 
man to the pleasure. 

“That is what I mean to do. But the other is a duty ; 
and leads to the settlement of some perplexity. My 
cousin, Hugh de Brienne, is a fine fellow. I adored him 
when I was a little boy. He had his head full of ad- 
ventures. He wanted to go and fight, but poor Captain 
Perrier was killed. And then he came to Canada, 
promising to be back in five years.” 

“And is it five years ?” with sweetest accent. 

“Not quite. And here I am, idling away my time 
when I should be searching for him.” 

“You will return?” 

She looked as if she might care a great deal. 

“Oh, of course. I do not believe I shall find another 
place so enchanting. I do not wonder people are be- 
witched with this new land.” 

Madame Ilenriade had despatched her business, and 
she rose. Gervaise wished there had been more of it. 
It was so fascinating to watch Mam’selle’s slim, pink 
128 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 

fingers wind in and out of the embroidery — to get a little 
tangled in the silk — then to drop her needle while she 
gave some sort of twist to the thread. 

He rose reluctantly. It was in his eyes. 

“Thou wilt carry my compliments to Madame Champe 
and thy sister. Tell them not to feel amazed. I will 
come and plan for them. And Claire will be very happy 
to have a companion, since this is her first time at the 
„ birthday of the General.” 

Gervaise replied with some fervor to his hostess. 
Being a young man had an indescribable charm. 

“But,” said Barbe, when the arrangements had been 
laid before her, “there is always something. The time 
goes by so fast. And there is that journey. Is there 
no way you can hear? You must go?” 

“Oh, Barbe, that I might be divided in two bodies! 
One should take the search, and the other remain here.” 

“It is hard to spare thee.” Barbe was much moved. 
He and Angelique were so charming together and 
learned so many romantic stories about the province, that 
it was a delight to listen to. And she felt Angelique was 
safer, with Gervaise to watch over her. But there was 
the promise to the dying woman. 

As for Sylvie, no day was hardly long enough; only 
she was always so tired and sleepy when night came. 
Viny was a devoted attendant, and had a fund of mar- 
vellous stories; though, she had been strictly forbidden 
to tell her anything frightful or sad. But she was young, 
and lighthearted, and made imaginary dialogues between 
the birds and the animals. M. Lavalette had sent her 
a pair of beautiful herons, and Father Antoine, whose 
acquaintance Jaques guarded most carefully, brought her 
a tame crane that was as amusing as Pitipat, but not as 


129 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


handsome. Every few days, she went down to see 
Madame Milhet, and the heron ran to meet her as soon 
as he heard her voice. 

“Madame will be for giving it away to Sylvie, next,” 
said Laure, with some discontent. “She has every- 
thing.” 

“Then she will not need Pitipat. Besides, he is 
mine,” returned Dolomine. “I have trained him, and 
he is fond of me. I mended his leg, when the dogs 
would soon have killed him. Yes, Mam’selle has 
plenty.” 

“And I like Pitipat. I haven’t much, and I have no 
people of my own.” 

“Don’t wish for them, child, unless they could be a 
credit to you.” Mini’s tone was lofty. 

“And people to love you ” 

The hunger in the heart welled up now and then. If 
she had half hoped Sylvie would like her very much she 
had found her mistake. But, then Zenobie would not 
love Sylvie ; that was some consolation. 

“I just do want to see that little French girl,” Hortense 
de Longpre had said, enthusiastically. “Henri raves 
about her golden hair and her wonderful complexion, 
and her grace ; but, he admits she is a spoiled child, with 
a queer bit of temper.” 

“She comes down to us, occasionally,” commented 
Laure, in an extremely indifferent tone. 

“And is her hair golden? Henri thinks some artist 
ought to paint it. It will grow darker, you know.” 

“Oh, will it?” That was a comfort, though Laure did 
not just know why. 

“And if you could ask me, sometime when you knew 
she would come ” 

The tone was persuasive — almost entreating. 

130 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 


“But I never know just when she will come/’ 

Laure’s manner was rather stiff. Would Hortense 
come to see her? Why should she add another triumph 
to Sylvie Perrier ? 

“Isn’t she likely to attend school ?” 

“They’re not Catholics. They despise convents.” 

“But Henri declares they are charming.” 

There was no reply to this. 

“What a disagreeable little thing Laure Gorgas is!” 
declared Hortense to Zenobie. “She’s proud enough 
to know those new French people, but she means to keep 
them to herself. Do they go there very much? They 
lodged at Mere Milhet’s at first, but now they have a 
house of their own.” 

“One of papa’s houses. Claire and the young lady are 
great friends.” 

“And the little sister ” 

“She isn’t a sister to any of them. They are all 
cousins. She’s not much more than a baby. Such a 
queer, untrained thing.” 

“Oh, yes, she’s quite a large girl.” 

Zenobie shrugged her shoulders “Do you know your 
catechism? You are always missing it. What you will 
do ” 

“I’ll have it by Easter; that will answer. I can say 
every word in French. This detestable Spanish !” 

That evening she found Henri sauntering up and down 
the oleander walk, smoking a cigar. 

“Henri,” she cried, “couldn’t you take me for a walk 
as far as — as that pretty Mademoiselle Angelique’s? I 
want to see the little girl that you think has such beauti- 
ful hair.” 

Henri was in a very good humor. Then, too, there 
was a fine excuse to see Mam’selle again. 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Why, if you will go now. To-morrow, I shall be 
busy. And we are going to Belle Vue so soon. Run 
and ask Aunt ” 

“She has gone down to the Plaza. Oh, she won’t 
mind, since I am with you. And it needn’t be a real call, 
you know. We might find them somewhere about ” 

He laughed. “Yes, come along. But, she’s only a 
little girl ; not like you and Zenobie.” 

“Do you suppose it is true that they have no end of 
diamonds and things?” 

“They sold some diamonds after they came here. In 
France, I suppose, they were quite grand people.” 

“With a title !” There was a proud emphasis. 

“If titles amount to anything. But that is the 
cousin’s, who is not here. He’s a fine fellow — that Ger- 
vaise Aubreton. They are all very nice.” 

Hortense was delighted to gain her point so easily ; 
for she was quite sure her Aunt Melanie, who was a very 
precise person, would have said : “My child, some day, 
when I pay my call upon them, you shall go with me,” 
and that time might not come in a year. She was very 
bright and amiable as they walked along. This was not 
at all like the settled part of the city, where one might 
be jostled about by rude persons. They met others 
strolling for pleasure. Henri knew some of the people 
and bowed, or exchanged greetings. 

And, as good-fortune would have it, Gervaise and his 
two cousins, and the crane, were walking down the road, 
bordered with tall palmettos with plumy foliage, that 
nodded like great flocks of birds, making troops of 
shadowy figures in the moonlight. 

“Ah !” the young people said. “We were out strolling ; 
the night is so divine. Mam’selle Saucier has overcome 
her fear of Indians, and there are no free blacks roaming 
132 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 


about ; so we take a little indulgence now and then. And 
Sylvie was quite sure a walk in the cool air would benefit 
the crane, though I fancy he would rather be at home, 
nodding on one foot.” 

'‘This is my sister, Mam’selle Hortense, who has ex- 
pressed — what shall I call it? — a complimentary, or a 
reprehensible, curiosity to see Mam’selle Sylvie.” 

“Oh,” said Sylvie, coming out in the light, half bash- 
fully,. Yes, Hortense was a big girl. 

“Laure Gorgas talked so much about you.” She was 
too well-bred to mention that her brother had done 
the same thing. “Oh, what an odd pet! What do you 
call him?” 

“His name was Telano. Viny doesn’t like it. It 
sounds as if you meant to say ‘Tell all you know,’ which 
is gossipy, Aunt Barbe says.” 

“And who is Viny?” 

“She’s the waitress ; but she’s only hired. And she 
takes me out and watches me. Telano had half a mind 
not to like her at first, but he doesn’t mind now.” 

“What did you want to call him ?” 

“Oh, we tried on ever so many names. You see, the 
worst was they were all strange to him. And it would 
be queer to call him ‘Tel.’ ” 

“And ‘Telly’ would be quite ridiculous.” 

“He looks so kind of wise, and dignified. I’m not sure 
but Telano suits him. I had a playmate at Dessiers, and 4 
he was named Philippe.” 

“I like Telano better,” said Hortense. 

“And I have two beautiful blue herons, and some 
doves; and a squirrel comes and lets me talk to him. 
Madame Lavalette sent us a splendid cat, but he doesn’t 
want you to touch him. And he spends most of his 
time catching mice.” 


i33 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Then, he understands his business.” Hortense 
laughed merrily. 

“And it seems cruel, too. But Marti said we should 
be overrun with them. And Gervaise has a great, won- 
derful hound, who looks as if he could talk. He only 
came yesterday. What have you ?” 

“Oh, almost everything. A dozen dogs, I believe; 
papa is so fond of them ; and birds and fowls and swans, 
and a great pond. It comes from the river. The ducks 
and geese swim about, too. The plantation runs down 
to the river’s edge. We have a boat; but the river is 
so often muddy. Down town, it is dreadful.” 

“Yes, I have only seen it once since we landed. And 
there are such crowds of boats and people.” 

“Did you like France?” 

“I didn’t know only Brienne and Dessiers. There are 
more beauitful flowers here. And I don’t like the smell 
of the ocean — and the pirates — and I am never going 
back.” 

“Oh, that is nice. We like people to stay here who 
are worth having.” 

“But, in the end, I am going to be an American.” 

“Then, you will have to go away.” 

“Yes,” she answered, composedly. 

“But when you get to liking the people, you will not 
want to go away,” tentatively. 

Sylvie looked up, out of her beautiful eyes. 

“I like them already,” she made answer. “Everybody, 

I think ” then she flushed. She did not like Felice; 

she did not mean to like Zenobie. But there were all the 
woods and the birds and the wonderful skies, and the 
ringing of the vesper bell. It couldn’t matter, then, if 
you did not like a few things, when there were so many 
i34 


COQUETTING WITH FRIENDSHIP. 


you adored. “And I like — America. It has such a 
grand and strong sound. ” 

“America is all the continent.” 

“Well, then, I like it all,” laughing. 

How very pretty she was — like an angel with all that 
light hair floating about her, in the mystery of the moon- 
light ! 

“Oh, I like you! You are so sweet, so lovely.” 
Hortense clasped her in her arms, and kissed her with 
Southern fervor. Sylvie looked rather amazed at the 
sudden avowal and the caress. 

“I’m so much older. But, I wish you were my sister ; 
and I’ve never had a sister. Mamma died when I was a 
little thing. We have some cousins out on Bayou 
Teche; but they are young ladies, and really don’t like 
girls. When they visit us, they are always saying: 
‘Run away, Hortense; we want to talk.’ Does your 
cousin send you away, and do you love her?” 

“Why — yes. Why should she send me away ?” in 
amaze. 

“You are a darling! But if I lived with you, I should 
be jealous !” 

Hortense laughed with a quick gleefulness, as if the 
thought amused herself. 

“Oh, where is Telano?” Sylvie paused suddenly and 
looked around. “Let us go back,” and she dashed away. 

The two young men had been body-guards of 
Angelique, and were deeply interested in the coming 
visit. They did not hear the interruption. 

Sylvie found poor Telano taking a nap by the roadside. 
She caught him up, with exclamations of endearment. 
But it was an awkward burden for her small arms, and 
at first Telano protested. 


i35 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS, 


“Gervaise ! Gervaise !” the child called, and, after 
several summonses, they wheeled around. 

“What has happened to the children?” cried Angelique. 

“Oh, Gervaise, will you carry poor Telano home? He 
is so tired and sleepy. He had to stop and take a nap. 
And I can’t manage him.” 

They all laughed heartily at that. 

“The little Mam’selle owns you,” commented Henri, 
gayly. “Little one, some day we hope your devotion 
will be given to something better than a crane.” 

“I love him; and he loves me,” returned Sylvie, 
gravely. 

“An indisputable argument.” 

“Oh, we must turn back,” cried Angelique. “They 
may be worried about us. Mam’selle de Longpre, your 
brother must bring you up to see us.” Could she really 
ask the girl’s friendship for a child like Sylvie? 

“I shall be delighted to come. And, Henri, Tante 
Melanie must do herself the honor of calling upon the 
ladies. It has been a delightful walk. Good-night, 
Sylvie, and do not forget me. Try to like me a little, for 
I shall be very fond of you.” 

“Yes, I like you already,” but there was too much 
placidness in it to satisfy the vehement Hortense. 


CHAPTER X. 

A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 

The house at Belle Vue covered a large space of 
ground, though it was but two stories high. Three 
owners had taken a hand in it : one in building, when 
136 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


some of the material had been brought over the sea ; the 
other two, in adding to it. It stood on a little eminence, 
and sloped down to the beautiful lake. Part of it was 
plaster of a dull gray white; there was some stone and 
brick and one wing in timber. There was an interior 
court that the irregular sides enclosed, and the wide stone 
entrance gave a fine view of this. There were arches 
along the hall, supported by pillars, opening into spacious 
rooms, while the hall itself was quite magnificent 
with some old-time carving. Some of the rooms were 
panelled almost to the top, and the ceiling painted in 
fresco. There were strange carvings of fauns and satrys, 
of fruit and foliage; great magnolia blooms, pome- 
granates, grapes that seemed like plums, and small 
clusters, not larger than a pea — all packed together, but 
hanging gracefully ; and, here and there, lilies, wide-open, 
or drooping from very heaviness. 

But the vista at the end of the hall gave all this an 
aspect of weird richness and gloom. There was the 
real garden. Far in the background were immense 
single trees, standing like sentinels; and if Art had ar- 
ranged the rest, it was the most exquisite art, for it 
seemed as if every gradation of greenness was blended, 
like some choice embroidery. From dense dark shades 
and great, strange tropical leaves to exquisite lightness, 
airiness, daintiness — as of a young girl amid veterans 
of a century. And, oh, the gorgeous bloom, the en- 
trancing sweetness ! 

The stone steps were almost as wide as the hall ; 
quite free in front, except for a cluster of three columns 
on each side, but the ends were enclosed in a mass of 
vines. There was a gently sloping stretch toward the 
lake, part of which had been rescued from it, and pro- 
tected by a wall. Up at one end was a wharf, a boat- 

137 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


house, a long line of sheds that betokened busi- 
ness, and craft of several kinds, besides one or two 
evidently meant for pleasure, newly painted and rigged. 

Madame Henriade’s party had taken it leisurely in the 
morning. There were two young girls besides Claire 
and Angelique, who had their own careful chaperons, 
with Gervaise and De Longpre, for attendants, Lalande 
and Marie Abeille; and several young men, with direct 
invitations from the General. 

“How lovely it all is !” began Angelique. “It is fairy- 
land. I feel as if I could do nothing but look, and look. 
I never imagined anything like it.” 

“Then it compares with Brienne?” smilingly remarked 
Madame Lavalette. 

“Oh, Brienne is gloomy beside this. The woods are 
grand, to be sure; but the house is old, and so much of 
it stone, that it is often damp and cold. I like the 
lightness, the beauty — the something that is like youth, 
Madame,” and a tender light came into her eyes. “Oh, I 
do not wonder they call it the New World. It should be 
a splendid New France, where everything is fresh and 
fair, and might be made glorious.” 

“You are an enthusiast,” but there was approval in the 
tone and in the smiling eyes. 

She expressed her delight later to Madame Henriade. 

“You would do well to undertake new countries,” said 
that lady. “Think of courageous Madame Cadillac, 
leaving the home of her girlhood, and helping and en- 
couraging her husband in the founding of new towns, 
and sharing his hardships and dangers ! And that brave 
little wife of De Tonti — the explorer of the iron hand, as 
he was called, having lost one in battle, and taking this 
for a repairment. No doubt many men found it the iron 
138 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


hand in the velvet glove; though gloves were made of 
deer-skins in those days. And how they came down to 
New Orleans to search for La Salle, whom they both 
loved! There were many courageous women of whom 
the world will never hear.” 

“But why do they not put them in books, as in old 
France? There were books in the library at Brienne that 
were my delight.” 

“Ah, child, the explorers are too busy making history. 
They have no time to write it.” 

“But the priests ” 

“Well, the priests here have little leisure. They are 
trying to convert and civilize the Indians. And they all 
have to earn their bread, and teach other people how to 
earn theirs. It is not like Europe, with its endowed con- 
vents, and its centuries of civilization.” 

Angelique suppressed a little shiver. She had been 
trained to fear and abhor them. But already she had 
come to admire hard-working Father Antoine, who was 
at his labors early, and his prayers late, and who seemed 
most gentle and kindly. 

“We shall have histories enough presently, never fear. 
When life gets a little more settled, for the romances go 
on all the time. When you are an old woman you will 
have a rich store to relate to your grandchildren. But 
now, you must live them,” studying the fair girl with 
interest. 

“And it is such an enchanting thing to live! Oh, 
Madame, I feel sometimes as if I never wanted to die,” 
and the luminous eyes overflowed with enthusiasm. 

It would be a sad thing to want to die in youth, and 
quite unnatural.” 

The house went on filling up. The ladies had the wing 
i39 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

one side of the hall, on the upper floor, the gentlemen 
the other ; and there was much gay chattering and 
laughter. 

Angelique thought General Villaineuve the most mag- 
nificent man she had ever seen. Tall and splendidly de- 
veloped, with but few of the signs of age, except in his 
snowy hair, which was still abundant, and his beautiful 
long beard, that was Pablo's great delight to dress and 
perfume. A strong yet refined face, with black eyes 
shining genially in a pleasant atmosphere that diffused 
a sense of reliance and sympathy, yet that could peer 
deeply into other eyes and souls, when so minded, and 
wrest secrets from them unwittingly. 

Late in the afternoon they all viewed the plantations, 
though not their extent. Miles of sugar-cane — now that 
the genius of M. Bore had made it profitable. And there 
was a rumor stirring cotton-planters that some enter- 
prising genius was studying cheaper and quicker ways of 
separating cotton from the seed; and this would largely 
increase the profit. Long rows of slave cabins, some with 
tiny little gardens; swarms of laughing, rollicking chil- 
dren, babies tumbling about, rolling up the luminous 
whites of their eyes; and, afar, a curious sing-song, the 
like of which Angelique had never heard. It came from 
the woods, but it was neither the trees nor the wind. 

Claire interrupted the questioning expression. 

“It is the slaves coming home from the fields, singing." 

“It is really beautiful." 

“And, to-morow night, the General is going to let them 
have a dance of their own. That will be worth seeing. 
Most of the big dances have been forbidden — they get so 
wild and unmanageable — but on one’s own plantation 
one is responsible. I once saw an Indian dance on the 


140 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


encampment up above us. How curious that savage 
people put so much power in their dances !” 

Gervaise and Henri were coming toward them with a 
stranger, a young man, but older than they were, with a 
fine, martial air — a compact lithe figure, and a face to 
impress one. Not on account of striking beauty, Henri 
was much handsomer. A face strong and fair, with the 
sort of complexion on which sun and wind leave small 
traces; a broad forehead, rather dark, decisive eyebrows 
that gave a world of resolution to the face; blue eyes — 
with a smile in them now — though they could frown and 
look stormy enough on occasion. The mouth was firm, 
yet smiling; the chin, rather square. And, as if to em- 
phasize a more northern clime, his hair was quite light — 
a sort of golden brown. 

Henri was the master of ceremonies. 

“My friend wished to come, and Madame Henriade 
gave me permission to present him,” bowing to both 
parties. And Mr. Roger Norton was thus made ac- 
quainted with the young ladies, who accepted him rather 
shyly, as well-bred demoiselles were expected to do. 
But he appeared in no wise abashed, and had a fund of 
ready talk. He had come from the middle region, of 
which so little seemed really known then, though all 
manner of wild stories were afloat ; and it was now going 
through a stirring romance, with the ambitious dreams 
of a grand middle kingdom or empire. Probably no one 
just knew. There were several parties cherishing sepa- 
rate projects. Perhaps the safety to the union lay in 
the fact that, at the bottom, it was each party for itself. 

They paired off as they walked around to the imposing 
front. A delightful-looking company were assembled on 
the broad veranda, chatting, laughing — an admiring cir- 
141 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


cle of gentlemen, whose pleasure was visible in their 
faces. 

“It is like a big hotel,” said Norton, glancing them over. 
“Only, every one seems charmed. There is no dissatis- 
faction. You Southern people have some secret — some 
fascinating atmosphere. Is it the French temperament?” 

“I am new to it all,” returned Angelique. “We have 
not been here long. It is a beautiful sight. I have had 
two brief visits to Paris, but I was not really in anything. 
I saw the King and Queen driving out in state, and the 
Guards ; but the people were not enthusiastic. It seemed 
cold and stiff.” 

“Ah, you are ” 

“Emigrants. Yes, Monsieur,” she answered, tran- 
quilly. “We have only been here a short time.” 

“Well, you are in good company, if royalty may be 
considered such. The Duke of Orleans and his two 
brothers came in just as I left the city. Are you in- 
terested in this new ruler of France, the new order of 
things, or are you still an aristocrat ?” 

His tone was so clear and soft, his eyes wore a sort 
of persuasive light, as if he could draw the confidence out 
of any one, with no wounded feeling or sting left behind. 

“I do not know, Monsieur. For two years we lived 
very quietly. The Marquise de Brienne was in ill-health, 
and died. Her son, a relative of all who are left, was here 
in America. It was thought best to come hither. We 
went to Holland, and were a long time on our journey. 
The poor King and Queen have gone; and we have 
heard only such a little.” 

“This grand soldier — this man who has come up from 
an unknown family, and who has pluck and courage, and 
farsightedness and determination — is First Consul of the 
French Republic. You know all that?” 

14a 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


“Yes. Gervaise, my cousin, hears. We live very 
retired. We are not rich any more.” 

How charming her confidence was! And how lovely 
she appeared in her simplicity ! 

“The man may make himself the great hero of the 
age. Time will show whether he has the requisite 
virtue, the high aims, the singleness of purpose, the good 
of his fellow-men at heart; or whether self-aggrandize- 
ment will conquer him. But he is a great soldier, as 
I said. And a curious strain of liberty is in the air,” 
smiling, and nodding as if to some inner thought. 

She smiled also. She knew nothing of the great 
struggles — of the rights and wrongs. 

“And you have been nowhere but in New Orleans?” 

“No, Monsieur.” 

“Ah, you should see the eastern side of the country — 
the other cities, New York, Boston ” 

“We were to go to New York,” she said, in the pause. 

“Ah — and you drifted hither? Well, I can tell you 
you will like it better than either of those cities, because 
it is French. No other place at all resembles it. They 
bear the earmarks.” 

“As what?” She gave him a perplexed smile. She 
still held a secret interest in New York. 

“That city has the impress of the Dutch and the Eng- 
lish. It will outgrow it in time.” 

“We were in Amsterdam. I think the Dutch are pict- 
uresque and — and clean, and kindly.” 

“And Boston is still full of Puritanism. They came 
over to be able to worship God according to the dictates 
of their own conscience, but they still want to fit every- 
body to it. A Procrustean bed.” 

“Ah, yes, Monsieur,” and a soft light went over her 
face like a smile, that showed she understood. “That is 
not all the great cities ?” 




i43 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Philadelphia is next. I think you might like that. 
The people are softened down ; there are many Quakers, 
and no one quarrels about religion. Then Baltimore — 
that is Catholic. And Charleston. They are different — 
Southern. They have lovely old houses, and heirlooms 
of which they are immensely proud. They are more 
suave, more generously hospitable.” 

“Which should you choose, Monsieur ?” looking up 
brightly. 

“I don’t know. I’m not ready to settle. I like ad- 
ventures,” laughing. “There is much of the country to 
discover — no one knows all that is west of the Mississippi 
River.” 

She thought he looked like the descriptions of some 
of the old explorers. He was so strong and joyous and 
daring. 

Madame Lavalette beckoned to them. Claire was well 
enough, talking to Gervaise and Henri, but this strange 
person 

“Come, Angelique,” exclaimed Claire. 

“You have been very entertaining, Monsieur,” she said, 
as if to soften her abrupt departure. 

Norton went over to the group of men, and his re- 
ception stayed the little rebuke Madame Lavalette had 
ready. But mothers and chaperons were careful of their 
treasures. 

The ladies dined by themselves, but soon after the 
younger guests joined them. The elders had weighty 
affairs to discuss, and preferred to do their smoking and 
talking by themselves. 

The young men brought out their best powers of en- 
tertainment. Many played on the guitar, and sang de- 
lightfully in both French and Spanish. Ladies clapped 
their hands in a delicate fashion, to applaud. 


144 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


The General appeared presently. “The hall was ready 
for dancing,” he announced, and the sound of scraping 
fiddles verified it. Bright eyes were lustrous with pleas- 
ure. Young fellows bowed in the most entreating 
manner to chaperons. And in a few moments the 
great hall was a moving, floating mass. The soft light 
of innumerable candles, the graceful flutter of fans in the 
pauses, smiles and captivating glances, and clouds of 
diaphanous white ; whirling, gliding waltzers — everything 
orderly, but full of bewitchment for the small feet tread- 
ing the measures. 

There were some card-tables, but many preferred to 
promenade through the arches and gossip charmingly 
with the elder men who had come to look on, and, per- 
haps, take part. Madame Henriade was as great a 
favorite as any of the girls. 

“I am not quite sure about your ways,” said Roger 
Norton to Madame, “and I am afraid to blunder. Whom 
shall I ask for the pleasure of Mam’selle Saucier’s hand 
for one dance ?” 

“Ah — Madame Lavalette. Come with me. I thought 
you were meaning to save your finest steps for the great 
ball to-morrow night.” 

“I am not a very rabid dancer,” laughingly. 

Claire was full of gratification. She had been up 
every time, and, more than once, could have had two 
partners. Angelique had hesitated a little, and was 
almost afraid at first; she was so unused to gayety, 
though she and Gervaise often danced by the half-hours. 

“Monsieur Norton begs for the favor of Mam’selle 
Angelique,” Madame Henriade said, in presenting him. 

That was voucher enough, and the chaperon smiled 
acquiescently. 

Norton had not the exquisite grace of the Creole, but 
i45 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

he danced well. He was so tall and strong that Ange- 
lique seemed to float, with the delicate guidance. And 
when the music made the little final pause, she glanced 
up so wistfully he fancied there was regret in her eyes. 

“You knew a Captain Strong of the Mary Ann?” he 
asked, rather abruptly, as he loitered by the window with 
her. 

“Oh, yes; we — we were deeply indebted to him for 
much kindness,” she said, quietly. 

“I have heard the story — from him. I had a curious 
impression that I had seen you somewhere before — the 
names were so familiar. It was his description. And 
there is another one — your sister?” 

“No, a cousin. How strange!” She looked up with 
a soft light in her eyes that was quite enchanting; cer- 
tainly she was pleased. 

“So we have a mutual friend — a grand, good fellow ! 
He will be in next week. I shall see him.” 

“Oh, I hope we may also,” she said, with a quick flush 
of pleasure. 

How lovely she was ! Ah, he had it, now. He would 
not trouble or embarrass her ; he would make the captain 
present him to the household, and vouch for him. He 
was not accustomed to these Southern restrictions that 
hedged girls about. And he could improve the two days 
by making friends with the Cousin Gervaise Aubreton. 

That evening was only a preliminary. Everybody 
woke the next morning to find flags flying from the roof of 
the old house, from the boats ; and even the negro quarters 
were decorated. As he looked General Villaineuve won- 
dered if the Spanish flag would be flying on his next 
birthday. There were many things in the air — plans 
discussed last night. If one only knew whom to trust ! 

The soft peal of the chapel bell sounded tenderly on 
146 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


the air, and sent faint, quivering echoes over the beauti- 
ful lake. Nearly everybody trooped to mass, and all 
connected in any way with the General breathed heartfelt 
thanks for his life, and prayers for the future. On the 
return, he was congratulated warmly by his guests, his 
neighbors, and a deputation from the slaves, headed by 
a tall, fine-looking man, greatly above the average of his 
compeers, and who carried himself with so much dignity 
it seemed quite impossible to Angelique that he should 
be a slave. 

Anniversaries at that era had not been degraded by 
profuse gift-giving. Good wishes, perhaps a few verses 
by some one poetically inclined, though New Orleans had 
not as yet poured out her beautiful soul in poetry. All 
nature spoke for her instead, in the delicious voice of 
beauty. 

Now the near-by guests thronged in. Boats of every 
kind were out on the lake. Gayety, pleasure, music; 
chatting with old and young — everybody given to the 
utmost joyousness. All the negro quarters alive with 
gladness as well; for Master’s birthday was the big 
holiday of the year, and the occasion of much indul- 
gence. 

And then, such a dinner ! One room, large as it was, 
could not contain them all ; so the banquet was in the big 
hall, with either end opening on a picture such as nature 
alone can display. And, though later in the evening there 
might be excesses in some of the private rooms with the 
older men, there was too much regard paid to the ladies, 
as well as to the host, to admit of any breach. 

The slaves were to have their merry-making early in 
the evening. At nine, they were all to be housed in their 
cabins, and the lights out, except those occupied about 
the house. At the quarters there were gay lanterns, and 
i47 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


at points where there could be no possible danger pitch 
pine-knots blazed. 

Their dancing was weird and curious ; with no settled 
plan, it seemed — everybody being partners for a while, in 
whirls, slow, measured movements, circling round, march- 
ing, flying off with much swaying of the body, flinging 
out the arms, and then indulging in steps of the most 
wonderful kind, though mostly with a fascinating grace. 
Some of it had been borrowed from the Indian dances. 

After this, jigs and reels and waltzes. When the 
excitement ran too high the ringleaders were marched 
off ; and a sudden restraint fell upon the remainder, 
though there was much merriment and laughter. The 
big old clock began its strokes — slow, ponderous; and, 
though the pleasure-lovers were loath to give up, they 
had learned that future indulgences depended largely on 
present behavior, and that the kindly hand, so ready to 
distribute favors, was quite as swift to punish any dere- 
lictions from the rules, which were really not severe. 
The General was idolized by all his household. 

But at the big house there was no need for supervision, 
except what the mothers and chaperons exercised. Girls 
were trained to habits of obedience, as well as the slaves ; 
and the tenderness in families was one of the most 
charming features of the day. Sons had the old French 
reverence and affection for their parents, even if they 
went astray in many other respects; and were less in- 
tellectual than at the East. 

Angelique enjoyed all with the zest of youth and 
freshness. The charming politeness, the dainty elegance 
of compliment; the exquisite deference was very fasci- 
nating, and held what she imagined was the air of courts, 
that she had heard of, but never seen. True, there were 
a few exceptions. The Americans were more brusque, 
148 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


and not so gallant. Yet there was something in the 
frankness of Roger Norton that appealed to her strongly, 
that gave her an impression that he might be depended 
on to the uttermost. He had a taste for, and an under- 
standing of beauty, that stirred her to a greater compre- 
hension of it. 

“Come out here and look at this picture/’ he said, 
when the air had grown stifling within, and the dancers 
were languid. 

It was long past midnight. In the east, the stars had 
begun to pale. The lake widened out in the darkest blue 
— almost black; the sky above was light and delicate in 
tint ; and some few stars were extraordinarily brilliant, in 
strong contrast to the others. Down along one side, in 
the great curve, stood the lofty cypresses stretching out 
phantom arms, the oaks, with wide spreading branches 
and long pendants of clinging moss, whose pale gray 
made a light between the darker green. Magnolias, 
palms; strange shapes dimly outlined and losing them- 
selves in vague shadow — as if they had reached the end 
of the world, and there was nothing beyond. 

“What a time for a float out on the lake!” he said. 
“Would it take one to an enchanted land, I wonder?” 

The girl stood motionless at his side, and made no 
reply. She was awe-struck with the all-pervading love- 
liness. 

And he wondered what there was about her that should 
make such an impression on him — an impression he did 
not care to resist, it was so delightful. Not the mere 
beauty, but the unconscious sweetness she seemed to dif- 
fuse with every movement, as a flower shakes off per- 
fume. 

There was one more delightful morning. The sun 
was veiled a little by drifting clouds, and most of the 
149 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


party were out in the boats. How lovely and tranquil it 
was! The air was fragrant with perfumed moisture; 
the coves and nooks led to enchanted caves; the great 
waving trees sent dancing shadows over the clear water 
that took its tint from them. Great masses of bloom 
broke the greenness by their brilliancy ; fish darted about, 
giving a phosphorescent light ; birds flung a swift dazzle 
in and out, or great flocks flew over, slowly it seemed, 
beating the air languidly with their wings. Some of the 
party chattered gayly; two young men, with voices that 
might have made a fortune in modern times, sang songs. 

Angelique could not talk — hardly listen. Her wildest 
dreams had never pictured a scene like this. All through 
her being she was strangely moved, and the mystery was 
one of uncomprehended sweetness. She could feel the 
blue eyes of Norton upon her — not boldly, but from under 
the golden-brown lashes. Was it because they were blue? 
Would she have resented any darker eyes? 

“Oh, Madame Henriade,” she said, at parting. “I 
know not how to thank you! I have been in an en- 
chanted land.” 

Madame smiled. Though she was not considering 
lovers for herself, she often did for young people. This 
pretty, simple-hearted girl must marry in her youth and 
freshness. Already she had chosen her a husband; but 
it was not Roger Norton. These adventurous Americans 
with no settled homes or land she looked upon as the 
Courier des bois of a century ago. 

And, indeed, the wild spirit of adventure had not died 
out. There were still plots and schemes. One that 
looked tempting, to many eyes, was the scheme of a grand 
new Empire or Republic, in the choicest heart of the 
country. The middle colonies were already dissatisfied 
with the little attention paid them by the central govern- 
150 


/ 


A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 


ment. Spain hampered them in the way of trade, and 
her foothold was uncertain. She had never gained the 
esteem of the French. Here was this magnificent terri- 
tory from the Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, and stretch- 
ing out west farther than man had explored, taking in 
both sides of the mighty river and its tributaries. No 
wonder the dream fascinated, and that, only a few years 
later, a man whose disappointment at missing the 
Presidency by one vote should have plotted and schemed 
on much the same lines, and lost all. 

Was Carondelet coquetting with these people on his 
own plans of self-aggrandizement and power? But the 
proud, restless Kentuckian, the brave and hardy moun- 
taineer of Tennessee, the adventurers from different 
quarters, had no idea of turning their heritage over to 
Spain in the end, though the island of Orleans and the 
mouths of the Mississippi were their objective point. 
Was there not room enough in this great America for 
two republics? For surely the Eastern States did not 
understand the temper nor the wants of these settlers, 
who had emigrated from them. 

There was also a disquieting feeling about slavery even 
then. The newer emigrants were not in favor of it. 
And there was England to strike against, for the war of 
the Revolution had not settled all things. 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

ROYALTY. 

But gayety went on. The theatre improved. There 
were public dances managed on what were considered 
very respectable lines, where some beautiful Creole, or 
some women with a faint admixture of the condemned 
blood, held an audience transfixed by her wondrous grace 
and beauty. And cafes attracted visitors in a rather 
elegant anteroom where gaming-tables were set ; or 
some young man who had gambled away his small patri- 
mony played exquisite airs on the violin or sang songs 
of love and despair, that in the daytime he might lounge 
on the Plaza, or promenade the few public streets in im- 
maculate attire. 

There were many people of rank, and the sons of the 
Regent, now out of business, finding but few places of 
welcome, were received with open arms, and added much 
to the pleasure of the higher classes. 

The Marigny House was brilliant with social pomp, 
dinners and balls, for the Marquis was a very pronounced 
Royalist, though a good Catholic. M. de Bore was full 
of attention and sympathy as well. 

“You go everywhere,” cried Sylvie, disconsolately. “It 
is very hard to be a little girl, and to have to stay at home 
with no one but a crane, who is always wanting to wade 
in the ponds and catch horrid things, or else go to sleep.” 

“Why, almost every day you go to walk with Gervaise ! 
And you wouldn’t go with me to the Lavalettes’. I saw the 
queer old grarimtre. M’sieu Lavalette brought her down- 
152 


ROYALTY. 


stairs in his arms, and she has shrunk so she is not much 
bigger than you; but she has fiery black eyes, and she 
talks shrill and fast. Zenobie is her favorite. She is 
saving a beautiful string of pearls that her husband gave 
her when they had been married twenty years. And 
some elegant rings that she wears all the time. They 
are tied on with a silken thread so she can’t lose them.” 

“I don’t like any one so old,” said the child, with a pout. 
“Aunt Barbe is plenty old enough.” 

“And Zenobie wants to see you. I can’t understand 
why you dislike her. I think her quite as nice as 
Hortense.” 

“But Hortense loves me.” 

“Zenobie might, if you gave her a chance.” 

“I don’t want her to,” with some petulance. 

“You are a disagreeable little girl. And you can be 
so sweet.” 

Angelique was making yards and yards of sheer 
ruffling for her pretty gown she was to wear at the 
Marigny House, where the Duke of Orleans held quite 
a little court ; and to be presented to him was considered 
something of a favor. Madame Henriade had taken her 
protegee about with much kindliness and pleasure. True, 
she always met the young Spaniard, Manuel Torres, who 
was charmingly polite, but now and then said such ex- 
travagant things that it brought the color to her cheeks. 

Sylvie kicked the leg of the table with her tiny slipper, 
and looked through at the garden. Telano was catching 
flies with his long bill. He did it very adroitly — she 
thought quite as well as the toads. Down below, the 
herons were chattering. There was a pond Jaques had 
dug out and widened the little stream, and made a rustic 
seat where Sylvie could watch them. 

“I wish you’d read Spanish with me.” 

i53 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“I can’t, just now. But stay,” as the child’s face fell, 
‘Til get my book, and listen as you read.” 

“Gervaise never teaches me any more,” she said, in a 
pitiful voice of complaint. 

That was part of the disquiet. Gervaise had found 
an errand to take him up to the Lavalettes’. Claire had 
a great charm for the young man. And Sylvie did not 
outgrow her jealousy. What would be done with the 
troublesome little thing by and by? 

“I’d rather have French verses,” Sylvie began, per- 
versely. “Or, you might sing me a song.” 

A spoiled child, sure enough. 

“This was what they sang on the lake. I thought it 
very sweet.” 

In a soft, gay voice she sang a merry chanson. 

“And now, tell me about the house again. Do you 
ever suppose there will be a birthday when I can go? 
It is very hard to be a little girl.” 

“But I was little once,” laughingly. 

“And if I had a beautiful big doll I shouldn’t mind so 
much. Were there no little girls in the General’s house?” 

“Not any. Little girls do not go to parties. Why, I 
never went to a party until Madame Henriade asked me.” 

“But they have festas at the convent. And pro- 
cessions, when you are dressed in your finest, and every- 
thing ! And little cakes to eat.” 

“Perhaps you had better go to the convent.” 

“But I don’t like so many prayers, and, then, the 
penances. And to go alone in the chapel and kneel 
there! Suppose some horrible great thing like a croco- 
dile should come in?” 

“The crocodile doesn’t like to leave the water.” 

“Well, a great wolf, then!” 

“Or a mouse,” laughed Angelique. 

i54 


ROYALTY. 


Telano came stalking up to the steps, and uttered his 
lonely cry ; and his little mistress ran out to him, and was 
soon as gay as a bird. 

The Marigny House was in its glory that winter. 
The Marquis Marigny de Mandeville was a gracious 
gentleman, elegant, generous and witty, and, with M. de 
Bore, made the lives of the young Princes a round of 
amusement and pleasure. And at Pointe Coupee, the 
house of M. Poydras, they were not only made welcome, 
but generously provided for in other ways; though the 
home was simple and unostentatious, the heart was tender 
and sympathetic. 

But the Marigny House was the scene of the greatest 
pleasures. And when Madame Henriade had a request 
to bring some of the prettiest young ladies she knew, she 
chose Angelique, not only on account of her beauty, but 
that she, too, had been forced to fly from her native land. 

The princes were certainly very affable, and fond of 
pleasure. Angelique found herself quite an object of at- 
tention at once. The Duke of Orleans knew the estate 
very well, and remembered that young Hugh had passed 
one winter at court, where he had met him several times. 

“Ah, Mademoiselle, it is well you were not there to see 
the ruin of all things. No words can ever describe its 
horrors, and it would pain you to remember. What my 
poor little cousins suffered is incredible! And here is 
this upstart — because he has won some famous battles — 
made head of the realm, and rules by might, not by any 
divine right. Ah, it is a sorry time for us poor exiles. 
And what has become of the young Marquis ?” 

Angelique explained that he had come to America, 
where present traces had been lost. Monsieur Aubreton 
had written, but, so far, no word of any kind had reached 
them. Her cousin had resolved to go in search of him. 

155 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


When she danced with the Duke she little thought that 
at some future day she should be received as one of the 
ladies of the American embassy, and the Duke of Orleans 
be on the throne of France, while the grand Emperor, 
who had achieved so much, was, in his turn, an exile, 
and buried on the rocky isle of St. Helena. 

“But I liked the Count of Beaujolais best,” said Claire, 
when they compared notes, as even the demure de- 
moiselles of that period were given to sweet little confi- 
dences. “He is so unaffected. I have always thought 
there would be something imposing about royalty; but, 
really, one can talk to him as one does to Gervaise.” 

She called him Gervaise to Angelique, but she said 
Monsieur in the properest fashion, before her mother. 

“And he dances beautifully. But it seems as if every 
one knew how to dance with grace and ease. Even the 
Marquis was a picture, as he stepped so lightly, and as 
for Madame Henriade ” 

“Oh, she is delicious. There are girls dying to have 
her for a patron; and, really, Angelique, we are to be 
envied.” 

The Count of Beaujolais endeared himself to many a 
young girl. And through those weeks Claire sometimes 
thought — but, after all, the Count was young, and poor, 
and an exile, and the pure pleasure itself is much to youth. 
Besides, Claire was a well-brought-up young girl, and 
she knew some day a husband would be provided for her, 
whom she would have the right to love. 

One evening there came an old friend to the Champe 
house — good Captain strong — and he brought with him 
a young American, who was axious to renew his ac- 
quaintance with the two young people he had met at 
General Villaineuve’s. Their romantic story had lingered 
156 


ROYALTY. 

in his mind, and the captain had talked so much about 
the little one. 

The little one was in a charming mood. The captain 
had brought her some soft, white, silky material for a 
frock, no end of gay ribbons, and a string of coral — not 
simple little beads, but round and exquisitely polished, 
each one held separately by a fine gold wire, and of a pink 
that seemed melting in its softness. 

Angelique felt curiously shy. He thought her very 
lovely, with her downcast eyes, and the soft color that 
came and went. 

Sylvie prattled entertainingly. He said he would like to 
see the crane. A crane that could learn to dance and to 
hold a conversation with one must be very intelligent. 

“Of course it isn’t real French,” she admitted, hesi- 
tatingly. “And he cannot make sentences, but he knows 
so much. I’ve been trying to tame the herons — I mean, 
teach them. And now there are some baby herons, and 
I think the mother is cross.” 

Telano was as good-natured as his mistress. She sang 
a little measure, and he stepped off quite gracefully on 
his long slim legs, while his plumy tail accented every 
motion. Sylvie kept time with one dainty finger. 

Telano marched gravely round in a circle, with a 
dignified gait, nodding his head as if bowing to some 
imaginary partner. Afterward, he crossed the circle 
with a hopping step, on one foot, then on the other, 
raising his wings. Then he swung himself round, back 
again, and began the promenade that had opened the 
exercise, bowing with the utmost gravity. 

“Oh, you are a darling!” She ran and hugged him. 
“Now, what will you have? Here is a pomegranate, 
but I have no knife.” 


157 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“I will cut it for you.” 

How beautiful it was, with its indescribable color. 
Norton studied it a moment. 

“He likes the seeds. Here, Telano, you have been a 
very good gentleman. I am obliged to you.” 

Telano uttered two or three guttural sounds. 

“He says you are welcome to his poor performance, 
Monsieur.” 

“Why, I thought it excellent.” 

“Hear that, Telano! Monsieur thinks you are 
splendid. And Monsieur has seen many things.” 

She gave him a sudden, rapturous hug. As soon as 
Telano was free, he broke into a long gabble, looking 
directly at his mistress; then he made a funny spread of 
his drooping tail feathers, and flapped his wings. 

“How could you train him so well ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. And he listens, sometimes when 
I read French verses. I think he likes poetry.” 

“Are you fond of it ?” 

“Oh, those delightful little things that have pretty, 
jingling words at the end. I sometimes make it, myself, 
to the trees and the birds.” 

“Then you must be a poet. And what other pets have 
you ?” 

“There are some beautiful ducks; but they are such 
greedy things. They eat and eat, and never once say 
‘thank you.’ ” 

“That is ingratitude. And what else — a beautiful 
dog?” 

“I don’t like dogs. I believe I am afraid of them. 
M’sieu Jaques has one that watches the house, and is 
kept on a chain. But he has such fierce eyes. And then, 
there are squirrels, and the cockatoo, who is beautiful but 
cross, and wants to snap your fingers. He has wicked 
158 


ROYALTY. 


eyes. Marti brought him here, and he lives in a cage. 
And the pretty love-birds and the mocking-birds; but I 
like them best out of doors. There they can talk to each 
other. I shouldn’t like a bird in a cage. I should always 
feel sorry for him,” and she sighed. 

Gervaise came out to join them. “Well, did the crane 
perform satisfactorily,” he asked, with a laugh. 

“Please call him Telano,” she said, with dignity. 

“You do not talk English?” 

“I am learning a little. It is rather awkward, but I 
can begin to understand quite well. There are so many 
languages, down on the levee, that one is struck almost 
dumb.” 

“And one thinks it a pity they should have begun the 
Tower of Babel.” 

“What was it for?” asked Sylvie. 

“Why, once, a long while ago — thousands of years — 
some people thought they would build a tower to reach 
up to heaven, so they could go there whenever they liked. 
Suddenly, a queer thing happened. They all began to 
talk different languages. So no one could understand 
what the other one wanted, and they quarrelled; one 
went one way and one went the other, in small companies 
that understood each other, and they settled all round the 
world.” 

“And the world is very large ?” Sylvie said, with a soft 
sigh. “Have you been to New Amsterdam?” 

“New York? The English took it from the Dutch, 
and then we took it from the English.” 

“Will any one take it from you ?” 

“I think not,” and he gave a mellow laugh. 

“If you could go by land, I should like to go,” she 
remarked, seriously. 

“Ah, but you can. It is a sail up the Mississippi, and 
then the Ohio ” 


i59 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“That is not going by land,” she interrupted. 

“Oh, no. Pardon me. There are many ways of going 
by land, but they are troublesome and tedious, and often 
dangerous. We have not conquered all the Indians yet. 
And a good deal of the journey would have to be made 
on horseback. I should advise you to go up the Mis- 
sissippi. That is not like the ocean, and there are no 
pirates.” 

“I am to go up to Michigan before long,” Gervaise 
announced. 

“If we could agree upon time, I should like to have 
you for a companion part of the way. Indeed, I have 
some copper lands that I ought to inquire into. Why, 
we might take it together.” 

“That would be most delightful for me.” Gervaise’s 
young eyes kindled with sudden joy and relief. I have 
been dreading to go alone.” 

“Monsieur Norton,” said a soft voice, “Captain Strong 
is sorry to disturb you, but he wishes to go, as business 
presses. I hope you have been entertained?” 

“I found Mam’selle Sylvie charming, and the crane, 
remarkable. I hope she will allow me to visit him again,” 
bowing to the child. 

“And, Angel, M’sieu Norton may go to Michigan,” 
cried Gervaise. “Isn’t that a stroke of good fortune for 
me?” and his voice was overfreighted with satisfaction. 

Angel! Did they call her that? How beautiful it 
sounded! Could there be a more appropriate name? 

“Why that would be most friendly,” she replied. 

Captain Strong had enjoyed his visit with Madame 
Barbe very much, and was pleased to find they had been 
no greater sufferers by their misfortunes. 

“It is not that we are at all rich,” explained Barbe, 
“but everybody is so kind and gracious. And the gar- 
160 


ROYALTY. 


dens are so full, the fruit is so delicious. It is like living 
in the garden of Paradise.” 

“And you have to look out for the serpents,” he re- 
turned, a little grimly. “But nature is bountiful here.” 

“And God made the people kindly. Even now I 
understand how much worse the pirates might have 
been.” 

“Indeed that is so. And I think they grow more 
daring. There are too many fingers at the pie, pulling 
out plums; so, no one really guards the poor pie, when 
they should all join. Still, I have met with no mis- 
adventure.” 

Laure had a gift of a new frock which she displayed 
with great elation. Then she said : 

“Of course the necklace is very pretty, but it is just 
for ornament, you know. It will be a long while before 
it is proper for you to wear it. And children’s festas 
are very simple things. Now I can wear my frock on 
every occasion. A necklace like that would do me no 
good whatever.” 

“But I do wear the necklace,” said Sylvie, with great 
dignity. “I wore it to tea at Longpre’s, and Hortense 
thought it lovely.” 

“Mam’selle Hortense had for her lesson the seven 
deadly sins. She is very fond of the world — very vain,” 
remarked Laure, with severity. 

“But she will not be a nun.” 

“One can never tell. A most beautiful young lady has 
entered the novitiate. She was going to be married, and 
her lover was killed in one of the skirmishes near Mobile. 
So she gave all her beautiful things to the altar of St. 
Mary. A great many sad misfortunes happen to people 
of the world. The convent is the only safe place.” 

“But I don’t believe Hortense will ever enter a convent. 

161 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


And we are to go over to the Marigny House, to see the 
Princes. They know about Brienne, and my cousin 
Hugh.” 

That was an unassailable rampart. From that superior 
height Sylvie could look down on those below her. Laure 
could have gnashed her teeth, but she put on an air of 
indifference. 

“They have been to the convent, and come to church. 
They are good Catholics.” 

Sylvie felt a little bowled over at that. 

But she and Hortense had most enjoyable times to- 
gether. Aunt Melanie had paid her visit. Gervaise had 
been taken down to the great shipping house by Henri, 
and proffered employment when he returned, for it would 
be hardly safe to go back to France. The Republic was a 
great thing; but no one quite knew what this invincible 
Bonaparte was aiming at. 

The pretty old house, with its walled-in garden, stood 
for many a year a landmark. Throngs of people came 
to pay their respects to the affable young men. And the 
Count of Beaujolais was particularly charming to the 
young people, and, really, very much smitten by Claire. 
But these newer French people pleased him very much; 
Gervaise was so eager and enthusiastic, Angelique so 
well-bred, and the little girl charming in her frankness. 

And then came Christmas Eve, which was a great fes- 
tival. There had been no winter at all as yet. Trees 
and flowers were in bloom, and the air was bland and 
fragrant. 

After the service in the church, the streets and the Plaza 
were thronged. The shops were gay with colored lights : 
there were booths where everything to eat, and not a few 
things to wear, were being sold. Pictures of the Virgin 
and the infant Saviour met one everywhere, and were 
162 


ROYALTY. 


offered to nearly every passer-by. Stout negresses with 
gay turbans were concocting savory messes on charcoal 
fires; squaws were thrusting at one bunches of sweet 
herbs, calamus buds, belts, moccasins, and curious em- 
broidery on birch bark, or beautifully tanned skin; and 
children were selling flowers gathered from the woods 
and swamps. Great stems of flaming lilies in gorgeous 
colors or pure white made one look like part of a pro- 
cession. 

Gervaise found a seat for them. Henri and Hortense 
were in their party. Behind An^elique stood young 
Norton, like a sentinel, though he talked most to Sylvie 
and Hortense. And then the Duke of Montpensier, and 
his young brother, came along, and paused. 

“The gayety makes one feel quite at home/’ the Duke 
remarked. “What a fine night, and such a splendid 
moon! Your river, in its curious tint, looks like a 
gilded stream. We were hearing the strange and pathetic 
story of De Soto only a few days ago. What a mighty 
fund of romance its bosom holds ! Ah, you have a mar- 
vellous country and a most beautiful province. But it 
should, indeed, be New France. Am I talking treason? 
One hardly knows ” with a little uncertainty. 

“We are French to the heart’s core,” said Gervaise, 
bending over, confidentially. 

The American heard that. “What a love of country 
and undying patriotism of country you Frenchmen keep !” 
he exclaimed. “For more than thirty years Spain has 
been trying to quench the national spirit by tolerably 
fair means. She has not done badly for the colony, when 
you consider all things. But she has taken no root in the 
affections of the people. In the eastern colonies the 
trench have assimilated; you find them in the Carolinas. 
But New Orleans is a French province, and the French- 
163 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

speaking people are eager to-day to go back to their first 
love. But, Monsieur, there is another tide creeping in 
now that may be more potent. ,, 

“And a whisper,” said Henri, “that we shall go back 
to France.” His tone was very low, and he studied 
Norton eagerly. 

“This is not a night for hatching plots,” interposed 
the Count, laughingly. “And with such fair demoiselles 
in company, it is treason to them. This is the little 
maiden who was so entertained about the queer old 
articles and legends that our host has collected,” and he 
smiled over to Sylvie. 

“I like the stories so much, and the brave men,” Sylvie 
answered. “I wish they could be put in a book.” 

“You have developed few geniuses yet,” remarked the 
Duke. “New countries have so much else to occupy 
them. But at Pointe Coupee, our host proved himself 
not only an excellent musician, but has written an heroic 
poem on one of your governors who certainly deserves 
to be remembered. At the time the British prepared to 
take your town, he inspired the people with immense en- 
thusiasm and turned the tables upon them, as you all 
know doubtless, and swept the river clear of them, taking 
their forts from Baton Rouge to the Mobile River. Ah, 
it is very enthusiastic.” 

“I should like to see it,” and Angelique’s eyes kindled. 

“We have a few of the French poets ” 

There was a diversion just then. The Lavalette party 
espied them and halted. The young Count went across 
to Claire’s side at once. 

“Sylvie, this is Zenobie Lavalette,” announced Hor- 
tense, with an accent of mirth and mischief in her tone, 
enjoying her opportunity. 

And Zenobie, who had been full of gayety for the last 
164 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


half-hour, could not, in a moment, be sour and disagree- 
able as she faced the charming little girl. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 

How sweetly the bells rang out on Christmas morning ! 
The listeners might not have taken in the full import of 
the “Good will and peace,” yet there were bright and 
glad hearts among those who hurried to mass. For in- 
trospection and doubt of the truth had not come in as yet, 
and there was a childish faith — an unconquerable faith, 
serene and satisfying. Cordial greetings were exchanged ; 
there were gifts of flowers to each other — and good 
wishes. They were all merry, and felt they had a right 
to be. 

For every service there was a new summons, sounding 
softly on the peerless air. In some of the Eastern cities 
they would have called it summer. 

“Are you going to Church ?” asked Sylvie, in surprise, 
as Angelique seemed preparing for a walk at least. 

“Yes, Gervaise and I. Claire begged us to. It will 
be an unusual service — they all think it so beautiful. The 
nuns will sing behind the screen.” 

“Do you mean to be a Catholic?” asked Sylvie, appre- 
hensively. 

“No, dear. But Claire is, and I like her very much. 
And I am going to please myself, as well.” 

“I like Hortense. But I shall not go to church with 
her. And I like Laure sometimes; but she is always 
165 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


making trouble for herself. And she does say things 
that are not quite true, even if she is trying to be good. 
And, oh, dear! I should think she would wear her knees 
out with all the prayers. I’m sure I couldn’t remember 
so many saints.” 

Angelique smiled a little. 

Sylvie thought of another grievance. 

“Gervaise doesn’t ask me to go out with him.” 

“Why we all went last night.” 

“But he talked to Claire all the time.” 

“And the young Count talked to you, and to Claire 
too. Sylvie, you must not be such a little jealous pate.” 

Sylvie pouted. Angelique tied her hat under her 
pretty chin, and, stooping suddenly, kissed Sylvie before 
she could make any protest. 

The child went through to Barbe, who sat reading her 
French Bible. 

“If I wanted to go to church with Hortense, could I?” 
she asked, abruptly. 

“Why ” and Barbe hesitated. “Do you want to 

go?” 

“No, I don’t. I am not a Catholic. But Angel goes, 
and Gervaise. Why don’t we have a church of our 
own ?” 

“Perhaps we will, some day. The Government wants 
to make all the people as much like Spanish as it can. 
But we can have our religion at home. Come and let 
me read to you about Christ coming, and the worship of 
the wise men.” 

Sylvie was very fond of listening. She even liked the 
rhythmical cadences of the old poems Gervaise read aloud, 
though she did not understand a word of them. 

The singing was beautiful, Angelique thought. Her 
heart went out in reverent exaltation. She even caught 
166 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


a little of the Spanish service and the Latin prayers. 
More for pastime than anything else, she had studied a 
little Latin with Gervaise in the old walks about Brienne. 
And the simple, heart-felt worship appealed to her. 

There were cordial greetings when the service was 
ended. Even on Sundays, the afternoon was largely de- 
voted to pleasure and family reunions. But this was 
not Sunday. 

Manuel Torres joined the young people. M. and 
Madame Lavalette headed the procession; the nurse had 
charge of Felice, who often insisted on being carried. 
Torres came on the side of Angeliqwe, and, as the side- 
walks were narrow, they could not walk four abreast 
until they left the closely built streets. 

“Senorita,” the young Spaniard began, in his most 
delicately mellifluous tone, which had reverence as well as 
music in it, “is it true the young man, your cousin, is not 
head of the family — that there is an older person, who 
is away ” 

“Yes — the Sieur de Brienne. But we do not know 
whether he is alive or not,” and she sighed softly. 

“Then your aunt, Madame Champe, is the responsible 
head of the family ?” 

“Yes,” with a tint of wonderment in her voice. 

“I wish to see Madame this morning.” 

The tone was very grave. The Senor did not even 
raise his eyes. There was a sort of business precision 
in his voice. 

“Why — yes,” yet Angelique hesitated a little. What 
could he want with Barbe ? 

“Your cousin, the Senor Aubreton, goes away 
presently, I have heard.” 

“Yes, to obtain some news of our other cousin,” was 
her brief answer. 


167 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


‘The Senorita is studying Spanish a little?” he 
ventured, when there had been quite a pause. “Is she 
not pleased with it ?” 

“I do not advance rapidly. After all, most of the 
people one meets use the French language. And, when 
Gervaise is gone, I dare say I shall give it up.” 

“Oh, Senorita, that would be a pity. It is beautiful 
and noble, and has a tenderness that is quite delicious. 
If I might suggest a teacher for the Senorita ” 

Something in his tone warned her. A soft color 
flashed across her face, that was averted. 

“I believe the birds sing all the year round here,” 
Angelique began, irelevantly. “Is there really no 
winter ?” 

“The season is doing its loveliest — no doubt, to con- 
vince the Senorita what a very desirable place of resi- 
dence this is. It is the paradise of the earth,” and he 
bowed ceremoniously. “I hope she will never desire to 
leave it.” 

“We may go back to France, if matters become more 
stable,” she said, with a certain wilfulness. 

“Oh, Senorita, I hope not,” with very earnest emphasis. 

They were to make a turn in the road that parted them 
from the Lavalettes, and farewells were exchanged. 
After that, the conversation was carried on between the 
two young men, but a conscious knowledge of Torres’s 
errand began to pervade Angelique. She did not look 
his way when she invited him in, and led him through 
to the pretty court where Barbe often sat and sewed, as 
she could keep an eye on both Sylvie and Viny, who had 
become her satellite. But Barbe was not there. 

“Please be seated, Senor,” she said, formally. “I will 
send Madame Champe.” 


168 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


Barbe was looking over Sylvie’s frocks. The child 
was growing out of everything. 

'‘Barbe,” and the girl’s face was suddenly scarlet, “the 
Spaniard, Senor Torres, is down in the court. He 
wishes to see you.” 

“To see me?” with a blank look. 

“Yes. Barbe ” she came nearer and took both the 

hands tenderly in hers — looked beseechingly into the 
eyes that were always full of tenderness for her ; “Barbe, 
I am afraid — one can feel things in the atmosphere about 
one. The young men are all so polite and say so many 
charming things to you that you would be silly to suppose 
they really meant anything; but this morning, and his 
desire to see you — oh, Barbe, if it is that, will you not 
dismiss him ? I — I am not ready for lovers.” 

“Lovers, indeed! I think not. And a Spaniard, a 
Catholic! I was afraid to have you go to church this 
morning. See what has come of it !” 

“But it would have come anyhow. And Gervaise is 
not old enough to carry weight. Be decisive and digni- 
fied, and do not give him any hope.” 

“Hope! Merci! I should think not.” 

“That’s a good Barbe.” Angelique kissed her tenderly. 

Madame Champe considered herself fortified even to 
the point of indignation, but she had not counted on the 
delicate way the suave-mannered young man meant to 
approach his point. His opening conversation was to her 
alone, and its compliments rather confused her. He was 
voluble, yet preserved a certain grandeur that disarmed 
her. And after laying before her his family connection, 
his prospects in life (for he held an advantageous gov- 
ernment position), he very courteously asked the honor 
of the Senorita’s hand in marriage — the distinction of 
being the Senorita’s affianced, until she could consent to 
169 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


a marriage, which would bestow on him the greatest 
earthly happiness. 

“It is quite impossible,” began Barbe, almost 
brusquely. “You are a Catholic and Mademoiselle is 
a Protestant.” 

“But a wife would follow her husband in this matter, 
Madame,” he returned, with the most exquisitely polite 
certainty. 

“She — she does not love you, Monsieur. She is too 
young and inexperienced.” 

“She has reached that most adorable age when the girl 
is blossoming into the woman. And, Madame, no 
well-bred, refined young girl would love, before a man had 
spoken. Is it not so with your countrywomen? I beg 
for the delightful privilege of teaching her this sweet 
lesson. I ask your approval and consent. I shall not 
hurry the Senorita, but I know I can persuade her to 
regard me with favor. The rest will come.” 

Barbe shook her head decisively, and stood up her very 
tallest. 

“It is useless, Monsieur. And we must wait until we 
hear from the young Marquis. I would have no 
right ” 

“You have all the rights, Madame. The Marquis may 
be dead. And if he returns and finds his cousin happy 
in being betrothed to the man of her choice, who occupies 
a good position, could he have the heart to make her un- 
happy ?” 

“She does not wish to accept you, Monsieur.” 

Torres raised his eyebrows in surprise. His look 
almost extinguished poor Barbe, whose courage was 
rapidly giving way. 

“I must hear that from the Senorita herself,” he began. 

170 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


“Will you allow me to see her — in your presence of 
course,” bowing deferentially. 

“I will call her.” And Barbe withdrew with a formal 
courtesy, quite dismayed by the lover’s pertinacity. 

“You will have to come, Angel,” and she was almost 
on the point of tears. “I can see now why it is the 
proper thing to apply to the father. He is, in a sense, 
the owner of his daughter. But when a poor girl has 
neither father nor mother — and the lover is so resolved ! 
You see, he doesn’t expect you to love him now — well, 
that is right enough, too.” 

“Come,” said Angelique, with sudden bravery. 

“Senor” — as she entered the court with a proud 
courtesy, — “Madame Champe is right in what she has 
said. I do not desire a lover. I have no wish to be 
married.” 

“But if you are the sole object of a man’s heart? 
Senorita, I swear that I love you from the crown of your 
beautiful head to your dainty feet ; that it will be the one 
endeavor of my life to surround you with every delight 
and luxury — to adore you — to make your days visions of 
radiance! You will be happier than any woman ever 
was.” 

“I am sorry you should be so in earnest. I cannot 
divide my interest from our unfortunate little home 
circle. I have no wish at present to be loved. I do not 
want to marry. Senor, be kind enough to respect my 
wishes.” 

“The Senorita will never find me ungentlemanly. Yet 
my regret is deep and sincere. I should have devoted 
my whole life to making you happy. Even now, I must 
love you ” 

“Try to forget me in some other charming girl. There 
171 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


are so many of them,” and she endeavored to smile, but 
it was a faint semblance. 

“I shall be blind to their charms after having met the 
Senorita. It was the best Christmas gift I had to prof- 
fer ” 

He looked so handsome and melancholy that Angel’s 
heart was moved to pity, and yet she knew she must 
not express it, or her painful work would be all undone. 
So she stood a little stiff and cold. 

“Adieu, Senorita, and take my best wishes for your 
welfare.” Torres bowed with sad dignity. 

“And mine, for your future welfare.” 

He turned and walked away, and presently they heard 
the gate clang. 

“Oh, Barbe, how dreadful it is to have people love 
you !” and the girl threw herself in Barbe’s arms. 

“Does he love you so very much?” said Sylvie, 
emerging from a nook in the shrubbery. “And did he 
want to marry you ?” 

“You naughty little girl, were you listening?” Ange- 
lique had half a mind to shake her. 

“Why, there is where I always sit when I put Telano 
to sleep,” cried Sylvie, indignantly. “Jaques cleared it up 
for me, and made a seat with some vines. It’s my cor- 
ner !” and the child began to cry. 

Putting Telano to sleep was a rather curious mesmeric 
process. Sylvie stroked his neck and murmured low 
sounds to him that had the effect of sending him into 
drowsy slumbers. 

“Well, you must not speak of it,” said Barbe, sharply. 
“No real lady ever gossips about such things. Yes, he 
wanted to marry Angelique, but of course it would never 
do. So that is another secret.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep it. Oh, Angel, my heart would 
172 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


break if you and Gervaise both went away. What would 
I do ?” and her voice was full of tears. 

Angelique stooped and kissed her. She was a trusty 
little thing, after all. 

“For I only heard what you said; your voice is so 
clear, Angel. And Telano takes his nap just at that 
time. He comes and looks at me so, out of his queer 
eyes that are black with yellow rims, and he does love 
me. When I’m not there he sits and cries. And — 
Angel, I’m very glad you are not going to marry Mon- 
sieur Torres. I like the American so much better. He 
has such splendid blue eyes.” 

“I’m not likely to marry him, either. He doesn’t 
want any wife. And he is going away.” 

They were both to hear more about Senor Torres. 
Madame Henriade took Angelique to task the first time 
she saw her. 

“You foolish girl, to refuse an offer like that!” she 
cried, in a gay tone, yet it had disapproval in it. “I 
explained to him that owing to the troubles in France 
you were not likely to have any dowry, and it made no 
difference. His father has an office in the Cuban gov- 
ernment, and owns a big plantation. And Manuel can 
have his pick of some of the best girls,” she was re- 
gardful of the feelings of those she liked, so she would 
not say, “richest.” 

“Then I wish he had selected one of them,” Angel 
answered, quickly. 

“But why not you, cherie? You are old enough to 
marry. And such opportunities do not come every day. 
He would adore you. Everything would be yours.” 

“He is Spanish, and I am French.” 

“Ah, yes, he knew that. As if it could make any 
difference. Some of the best Spanish blood has been 


i73 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


mated with the Creole, and it makes a fine race. Because 
Spain and France so often cross sword’s points, that is 
not to say we in the New World should quarrel. He 
is kind and generous of heart, and has a well-governed, 
affable temper. Little one, reconsider. It is throwing 
away such a chance as may not come again.” 

“Madame, I do not want to marry at present.” 

“But the years run away fast, and nothing is more 
attractive than youth. There is an old proverb : ‘She 
who will not enter the golden gate when she may, too 
often finds it shut when she would/ ” 

“I am not looking for the golden gate. I cannot leave 
my aunt and Sylvie at present, especially now that Ger- 
vaise will go.” 

“Perhaps it is best to be satisfied ; but I am afraid he 
will not bring back any tidings. Manuel would have 
been very good to thee, and waited.” 

“But I did not prefer him, even. They are all alike 
to me. I thank you for so much, Madame. We owe 
nearly all our pleasures to you ; and I am truly sorry to 
grieve you. But I do not mean to think of lovers yet.” 

“Thou art too pretty not to have them think of thee.” 

Angelique wondered why she should feel so cold- 
hearted, when she enjoyed all youthful pleasures so 
keenly. What was she hoping for if Hugh de Brienne 
was found? She was not much more than a child that 
happy year when he had been her friend and companion. 
And he did belong to another. She had no right to de- 
mand even the old friendship of him. But what strange 
complications might ensue if Sylvie persisted in her be- 
lief that she had been truly married to Gervaise ! 

Sylvie kept the secret well, not even making any al- 
lusion to it. But Aunt Melanie heard it, and wondered 
174 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


that Madame Champe could uphold a girl in such foolish- 
ness when so fine an offer of marriage was made her. 

“She was not a bit in love with him, Aunt; that was 
plain to be seen/’ remarked Henri. “She is not thinking 
of marriage, truly.” 

“Then it is time she was. To let slip a chance like 
that ! And he in the government employ !” 

Henri gave a curious little laugh. He had heard the 
whispers that, after all, Spain was not so secure. If the 
province should be turned over to France again! There 
was only one drawback. The First Consul had ex- 
pressed himself strongly against slavery, and that would 
ruin the country. Still, French preference was intense. 

So Hortense, running about the garden with Sylvie, 
shook her bit of gossip out of her news net; and then 
Sylvie felt that, in some way, she had been defrauded of 
a triumph. 

“She is not going to marry any one. She has to stay 
with us until Gervaise comes back.” 

“But it would be dreadful for her to be an old maid ; 
such a pretty girl, too. Aunt Melanie thought of going 
into a convent. She was very religious. Then papa wanted 
her to come and take charge of the house, and she did. 
But I do not think Aunt Melanie ever could have been 
pretty.” 

“Angel is coming to live with me,” Sylvie said, proudly. 
“Ah, she had a secret that Hortense could not know.” 

“When you go back to France?” 

Sylvie nodded. 

“Oh, I shall be so sorry! But then I am older, and 
may have a lover of my own. Lucie Fleurien married, 
and went to Havana. Oh, what a grand wedding she 
had ! All the paths were strewn with flowers ; I mean to 
175 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


be married that way. Ah, if one could have a lover like 
the Count; but then he is very poor, and his people are 
no longer on the throne. I like a king best, don’t you ?” 

Sylvie was not at all sure. And she was glad Claire 
Lavalette liked the Count so well. Gervaise could not 
be always with her. 

As for Zenobie, she and Sylvie did not make much 
headway in friendship. 

“What you can see about the little child,” she said, 
loftily, to Hortense, “surprises me. A girl who nurses 
a crane and who is likely to grow up an ignoramus seems 
of very little account. Because she has long golden 
hair— — ” 

“She is not an ignoramus ! She can begin to talk quite 
well in Spanish; and she sews prettily. She can even 
embroider, and make lace. And they have some French 
poets they read aloud — she can repeat whole verses from 
them. Angel teaches her.” 

“Oh, Mam’selle Angelique is very grand, I believe. 
No doubt she is setting her cap for one of the Princes. 
Nothing less than a Prince will do.” 

Zenobie tossed her head. 

“That is very mean of you.” Hortense’s dark eyes 
flashed. 

“I suppose you are quite ready to put her in my place ! 
I can find another friend. But I did not think it of you, 
Hortense, when we have known each other all our lives !” 

There was a touch of upbraiding in the tone, and a 
certain pathos in the voice. They often had differences 
about one thing and another. 

“It is not that at all. We go to school and church 
together, and we are both Catholics. Father Moras said 
she was a heretic,” and the girl’s voice sank to a whisper. 
“So I pray for her every night, that she may be converted 
176 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 

to the true faith. And he said it would be a most ex- 
cellent thing to get her to school to the nuns. When I 
am trying to follow the good priest's advice, it is very 
cruel in you to torment me." 

“But you love her." 

“She is very sweet." 

“Oh, well, go on, then. Perhaps you are in love with 
Gervaise too !" 

“Zenobie Lavalette, I have half a mind never to speak 
to you again !" 

But they did speak the very next day. They could not 
keep angry very long. 

Everybody was asked up to the birthday of Gra’mere 
Lavalette, and the young Princes paid her the compliment 
of going. She was ninety-eight now, and they hoped she 
would live to be a hundred. She had been one of the 
King's maids sent over to the colonies for wives for the 
men settlers — girls of the better class. She still had 
her little casket, or trunk, and one of the gowns she wore, 
so faded by age that it seemed a soft gray, with indistinct 
flowers. 

Gra'mere was pillowed up in a great high-backed chair 
that had come from France fifty years before, and was 
rich in carven lilies and clamps of brass, much tarnished, 
though the strong hands of Olympie did their best to keep 
them bright — but the air was too moist. She was a large 
woman, with a good admixture of Indian blood — sold as 
a slave, having been captured in one of the battles be- 
tween the whites and Indians. Once she had made her 
escape; but when she heard gra’mere lay very ill, she 
had gone back of her own accord, and had a strange 
affection for the little withered-up woman who had once 
been such a beauty that Pierre Lavalette, a man of means, 
and holding an office under the Royal Government, made 
1 77 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


her an offer of his heart and hand, and took her to his 
home, very comfortable and quite fine for those days. 
And now M. Lavalette was the third in the line, and 
proud enough of his ancestry. 

She had always been rather petite — this pretty, 
courageous, Jeanne Lavalette, with dark shining hair, 
great black eyes, and bright pink cheeks, in those days. 
There had been many trials to live through — fierce Indian 
attacks — and in the wars at different times she had lost 
her five sons. One only had been married — the father of 
the present Pierre. 

And now she had shrunk year by year. The beautiful 
hair had grown snowy-white, and the little that was left 
was gathered under a cap. The fair skin had lost its 
beauty and was wrinkled and yellow; but the eyes were 
still dark and bright, and looked at you sharply enough, 
to show that her mind was very active. Sometimes it 
lived mostly in the past, then flashed out with a sudden 
vigor. She was only a very little deaf. 

Her room opened on the veranda, and was large and 
airy. She never came downstairs now, but often walked 
about leaning on the arm of her faithful attendant. It 
was full of curious relics of bygone times. A great 
canopied bedstead took much of the space at one side. It 
had belonged to one of the old governors, the Marquis 
de Vaudreuil, whose life had been the gayest and most 
extravagant of a corrupt administration — one of the 
many things that had made the earlier French reign a 
success. Curious chests of drawers, with griffins’ heads 
for handles; chairs that had come from France and in- 
dicated various reigns. A veritable museum of curiosities 
it was. A quaintly carved buffet, standing on quite high 
legs and reaching up correspondingly high, was spread 
out with the silver of past generations that was the apple 
178 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


of gra’mere’s bright eyes. Every morning Olympie had 
to count the pieces and tell what they were. When 
gra’mere felt in a discursive mood she would recall the 
story of each one and the gay scenes in which they had 
figured. Kerlerec, who had succeeded the Marquis, and 
was recalled in official disgrace and thrown into the 
Bastile ; M. d’Abbadie, with a lower rank, working hard 
at retrenchment, and, in spite of all, crushed at seeing the 
colony handed over to Spain. That old time always 
seemed freshest in her mind. 

This day the fates had conspired to keep her especially 
fresh and bright. Her big chair was like a throne. Her 
great flowered brocade silk, half a century old, flowed 
about her like an iridescent sea. Her fine old lace fichu 
was crossed on her breast; a string of pearls was about 
her throat, her beads and cross were fastened at her 
waist ; and, to-day, she did not look so near the end of the 
century. 

Notable people came and went. M. de Bore con- 
gratulated her on the way she bore her years. Some of 
the Spanish officials dropped in; the Princes — and they 
recalled a reminiscence of the one great King of France 
she had seen. Lesser lights appeared, many simply bow- 
ing and wishing her good-fortune and health. 

In an adjoining room were spread some refreshments, 
and several young ladies, with Claire at their head, pre- 
sided. Young men loitered to breathe a few soft nothings 
or speak of the next ball and the pleasure they hoped to 
have. 

Sylvie always recalled the scene as one of the curiosi- 
ties of her life. She had a feeling at first that gra’mere 
must at some period have been a queen. 

“What golden-haired Me is this?” the old lady ex- 
claimed, rising a little in her chair. “Child, come here, 
179 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and kiss my hand. You are so young and fresh; and, 
one day, you will be old, wrinkled, and your golden hair 
faded.” 

She held out her hand with its many rings. It was so 
small and pitiful. Sylvie pressed her warm, flushed 
cheek against it. 

“Come and see me again. I like to look at you.” 

Sylvie was a little frightened ; and when some one said, 
“What a beautiful child !” she shrank behind Barbe. 

“Do you suppose I shall live to be as old as that?” 
she asked, as they were going home. “And to be all 
wrinkled and shrunken, and have a queer tremble in your 
voice ” 

“But think of the attention paid her! It is not every 
one who lives to be almost a hundred. Oh, I don’t won- 
der they are proud of her.” 

When Olympie was putting her mistress in the great 
high bed and wrapping her all up in blankets, she said: 
“The prettiest thing that came to give me good wishes 
was that little golden-haired girl. I should like to lay 
my hands on the silken, soft head. And such blue eyes. 
They are like the skies when I was young.” 

The Princes went away. There were strange rumors 
in the air, and several persons were arrested and banished 
to Cuba for too much enthusiasm. General Villaineuve 
was suspected, of sympathizing with some plans for an 
overturn, and even M. de Bore was saved from accusation 
by the devotion of the place to one who had done so much 
for it — as the Governor well understood two such arrests 
as this would be opening a door to enemies on all sides. 

Roger Norton was ready for his journey. Now that 
it had come, they could not bear to part with Gervaise. 

“I feel that it will all be useless,” said Barbe, in a dis- 
180 


CHRISTMAS AND A LOVER. 


couraged tone. “And what will happen to us in the 
meanwhile ” 

“Nothing evil will happen to us, I am quite sure,” re- 
turned Angel, with courage. “We shall be lonely, but 
we have some such good friends; and M. Lavalette will 
be like a guardian to us. Only to-day he said we were 
to come to him in any perplexity.” 

They had been very happy. Claire was very fond of 
Gervaise, and it would be so easy for him to mistake her 
regard, which had nothing of love in it. The separation 
would be good for him. He was growing too pleasure- 
loving. 

She went out in the garden, for Sylvie’s passionate 
grief quite unsettled her. How strong the child’s feel- 
ings were! Some day the matter must be explained to 
her. 

There was a step, and some one parted the dense 
shrubbery, coming across, instead of by the walk. It 
shook out a cloud of fragrance. She turned and flushed 
deeply. 

“That commonplace adieu was not sufficient,” Roger 
Norton said, hurriedly. “A hundred things may happen, 
and I may never see you again. Still, I am generally 
on the lucky side. But I wanted to say — I ask nothing 
of you either but remembrance — that — I love you! You 
know nothing about love — I should like to teach you some 
day. Adieu — I shall carry you in my heart.” 

He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips — and was 
gone. Angelique stood in utter amaze. 

“Oh, Mam’selle, come at once,” cried Viny. “The lit- 
tle one has an hysteric, and Mo’sieu Gervaise cannot get 
away. Oh, poor child !” 

Angelique ran. Barbe stood there helpless. The girl 
181 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


unclasped the small arms that were like a rope around the 
neck of Gervaise and gathered the slight form to her 
heart. The great sobs shook her, and her eyes were 
transfixed, as if she was half unconscious. 

“Go quick. Oh, Gervaise, heaven be with you and 
bring you back safely ! And if you can find him !” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 

Viny carried the poor little thing upstairs and laid her 
on the bed. She had not fainted, for she breathed at 
intervals, but she was limp and helpless. The smelling 
salts sent little shivers over her, but did not completely 
rouse her. 

“I don’t know what we are to do,” said Barbe, help- 
lessly. “She’s such a child in most things — a baby ! She 
talks to that crane until I do believe he understands 
every word she says. And the cockatoo really cries after 
her, and all those herons — and I feel so afraid, sometimes, 
she’ll begin to charm those horrible snakes and reptiles! 
I did think she was caring less for Gervaise, but it has 
gone deeper, it seems. And that most unfortunate mar- 
riage !” 

“But if Hugh never should come back! If Gervaise 
should find he had died or been killed ” 

“Then the way is clear for establishing this mar- 
riage.” 

There was a great wrench at Angelique’s heart. 
Perhaps it would be better this way. What brought the 
182 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


vision of the enthusiastic young American before her? 
She hated herself that she could think of him. 

“Oh, but you see/’ cried Barbe, in anguish, “he does 
not care for her in that way. She is merely a sweet, 
pretty child to him, that he has had to soothe and appease 
and put off until she can understand. It is not real love. 
Now, Philippe adored her.” 

Angelique sighed and went on with her ministrations. 
Between them both they succeeded in restoring her, but 
she looked at them out of woe-begone eyes. 

“Oh,” she cried, at length, “he will never, never come 
back! I did not think it would be so hard. There are 
all those Indian tribes, with horrid names, who scalp 
every one or burn them at the stake. Oh, poor Ger- 
vaise ! And now I wish we had never seen that M’sieu 
Norton. Did he send that beautiful hound ? I shall hate 
it, I know.” 

“Zenobie Lavalette goes wild over it. We can let her 
take it.” 

Something like a flash crossed the weary blue eyes. 
“I would rather Hortense should have it,” she made 
answer. 

“He may have taken it with him. It is not here, and 
he said nothing about it when he went away.” 

Angelique colored consciously, with the recollection of 
what he did say. 

“I want Viny to come and hold me,” she insisted, 
rather fretfully. 

Viny came, and took her on her lap in the great reed 
rocking-chair, and crooned out songs in her soft voice, 
that was like a rushy rivulet and had no high notes. 

The next day, and the next day, Sylvie lay on the small 
white cot, or was in Viny’s arms. She wanted nothing to 
eat — she would not even talk. Her eyes seemed to grow 
183 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


larger and more wistful, and the color went out of her 
cheeks. 

“ What shall we do ?” Barbe kept saying. “Poor petite 
lamb. She looks like her mother.” 

“Is that Telano crying?” she asked of Viny on the 
eve of the second day. 

“Poor Telano. He has done nothing but mourn all 
day little Missy. He will not eat anything.” 

“That is like me.” She smiled faintly. “Do you 
think he would starve ?” 

“He looks so sorrowful, and shakes his head.” 

“And he might die. Oh, Viny, I shouldn’t like to die. 
It must be horrid to be shut up in one of those stone 
vaults and never see any one again. All the world is 
so lovely ! The magnolias are coming out — I smell 
them — and the jasmin. Yes, it is pleasanter to live even 
if — the people you love do go away. Viny, carry me 
downstairs, and let me comfort poor Telano.” 

Viny took her down and sat her in the hammock. 
Telano ran awkwardly from the crape-myrtle allee where 
he had been bemoaning his sorrows to the birds of the air. 
The sun was almost down, and the soft red and purplish 
lights were tinted with lavender and green. 

“Poor Telano!” He laid his head in the lap of his 
little mistress and uttered strange, pathetic cries, some of 
them not unlike a turkey’s gobble. When he had gone 
through the whole gamut of sounds, he looked up in 
Sylvie’s face. 

“Yes, Telano, two whole long days! I wasn’t asleep 
nor quite awake, but in some queer sort of atmosphere — 
and I know how it seems.” She patted his head, and 
he arched his neck, then took a few steps away and came 
slowly back. 

“No, I can’t take a run with you. But you shall have 
184 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


some bread. All the run has gone out of me, and I just 
want to sit still. I haven't gone entirely away from you, 
so you can’t understand, though you do know so much. It 
may be a whole long year before Gervaise comes back, 
and a hundred things may happen to him. Nothing 
much happens to little girls, only they grow and grow 
and get to be women ; but it takes a long while,” with a 
sigh. 

Viny returned with some bread. Sylvie crumbed it, 
but Telano did not eat ravenously, as if he had been 
neglected or as if the pond had refused its usual suste- 
nance. Then he came and stood on one foot beside her, 
rubbing her shoulder occasionally, with sympathetic in- 
telligence, while she talked on in a caressing strain. 

Angelique appeared at the edge of the court. 

“Monsieur Norton has sent the dog,” she began stiffly. 
“A slave has him. What shall we do, Sylvie? You do 
not want him.” 

Sylvie was a little offended at the tone. “Send him 
here to me,” she returned. 

“But ” in a* hesitating tone. 

“I want to see him,” rather pettishly. 

The slave, a young fellow belonging to the barber, had 
him in charge. He had brought him up the day before, 
but Jaques had dismissed him rather summarily, with the 
tidings that Mam’selle was ill, and could not be bothered 
with the dog. 

He bowed most obsequiously, having met with a 
rather cool reception from Angelique. 

“M’sieu Norton ordered that I should bring him to 
you,” he began in a rather deprecating tone. “He is a 
mos’ beautiful creature, Mademoiselle, and so gentle, so 
loving, so true. If you were to go away at any time, or 
tire of him, I am to keep him until M’sieu comes back.” 

185 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


He had the dog in leash — a magnificent, fawn-colored 
hound with a long slender head, fine pink nostrils, and 
most beautiful, entreating eyes. He halted in a question- 
ing attitude. 

“Hylas, come here/’ Sylvie said, gently. 

Hylas obeyed, and stood before her a sort of proud 
suppliant. There was a whole story in his glance — the 
story Roger Norton had told more than once. Sylvie 
had made the dog’s acquaintance before, and admired 
him. 

“I wonder if you would like to live here, Hylas? I 
have Telano, and you would have to be good friends with 
him.” She hugged the crane up closer, who rather glared 
at the new-comer, and the pink rim of his eyes grew 
fiery. 

Hylas gave his tail several emphatic twirls, and his 
eyes said, “I have been told to obey. Your will must be 
mine.” 

“You are so very handsome and strong, and would take 
care of me, I know.” 

“As for killing snakes, Mam’selle, he’s a master. He 
never lets one get way.” 

Hylas assented to that, emphatically, and came a step 
nearer. 

“Oh, what a pretty collar! Let me see ” 

He put his nose in her lap. Telano gave a hiss, but 
he looked steadily at the crane. No doubt he would have 
enjoyed twisting his neck with a good strong shake. 

“Hylas! Sylvie Perrier,” she read. “Oh, yes, I must 
keep him, then. Everybody will know he belongs to me.” 
She smiled with delight. “Take off that ugly rope, and 
— I am obliged to you for bringing him. I wonder if he 
will be content? I do not like dogs, generally, but I 
186 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


like him already. He looks so wise. Hylas, will you 
like to stay here ?” 

Did the dog understand? How much the brute crea- 
tion responds to, as if it surely did. He gave a curious 
sound, not a whine, not a bark, but it appeared to have a 
note of satisfaction in it. He touched the little hand with 
his tongue, caressingly ; his eyes seemed to overflow with 
promise. 

“You may come to-morrow and see if he feels at home 
and would like to stay,” and Sylvie smiled dismissingly. 

The man murmured thanks, and touched his hat, 
braided of the young river reeds — an art learned from the 
Indian squaws. 

Telano did not take very kindly to the head in his 
mistress’s lap. He would have been delighted to make 
an onslaught on the eyes watching him so fearlessly. 

“Now, you must be good friends,” she advised, gravely. 
“Oh, Viny, isn’t it funny? They are like Hortense and 
Zenobie! No, not quite like, for Zenobie doesn’t love 
me at all, but she does not want Hortense to have me to 
herself.” 

“Jealous,” explained Viny, sententiously. 

“And she was so cross that day gra’mere wanted to see 
me ; I was almost afraid, she is so old, and her eyes are so 
sharp. And she made Olympie show me so many queer 
things; and the frock that came from Paris in her little 
trunk, and some splendid rings, and a miniature of old 
gran’pere, set round with diamonds — just like those we 
had to sell when we came here. Hortense loves me; 
sometimes I wish she did not love me so much and want 
to kiss me all the time. Which will be Hortense, and 
which will be Zenobie ?” 

She laughed quite naturally, and glanced from one to 
the other with a sense of amusement. 

187 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“They will both love you, Mam’selle; so, neither can 
be Zenobie. You are so sweet, everything loves you.” 

Sylvie sighed. Did Gervaise love her very much ? He 
was not as vehement as Hortense. 

“Viny, fix the cushions in the hammock. I want to 
lie down. Telano, come around this side, and you can 
stay here, Hylas.” 

Hylas sat down on his haunches and looked kinglike, 
his eyes, so full of wordless knowledge, steadily bent 
upon his new young mistress. 

Was he thinking of the master, so far away? 

Viny swayed the hammock gently, and drove away the 
gnats with a great fan. By and by Telano began to nod 
also, and he presently thrust his bill under his wing. 
But Hylas watched like a sentinel. 

“She has kept the dog,” Angelique announced when 
she saw the slave go out of the gate with a coil of rope 
about his arm. She could not tell why, but it annoyed 
her. It brought Roger too close. She did not want to 
think of him. 

Sylvie was very languid for several days. Hylas came 
up on the balcony, and slept at Sylvie’s door at night. 
When she felt a little stronger, she took Hylas about with 
her, explaining the situation to him. 

“Oh,” with a cry of delight, “how beautiful you have 
made this, Jaques ! And you have cleared up all the wild 
things — they grow so fast. Oh, lovely swans, you have 
a much finer home. Jaques, who told you?” raising her 
glad, eager eyes. 

“No one. I’ve had it in my mind some time. Now one 
can see about a little. It is really a bayou,” and he 
laughed delightedly. 

He had dredged out the pond and enlarged its area, 
making in some places a bed of gravelly stones that shone 
1 88 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 

in the bottom. A little stream fed it on one side, that was 
lost in the dense woods. The other widened and nar- 
rowed until it spent itself in the river. But instead of 
the river ever draining these small streams and ponds, 
they seemed to grow larger from the overflow of the 
mighty current. The swans’ shelter had been made 
more secure, the herons, were down one end by them- 
selves, and delighted in wading up and down the swampy 
inlet. A small stone wall and platform had been added, 
and the rustic seats renewed. 

“How good you are to me, Jaques!” Her voice was 
full of emotion and she hung on his arm affectionately. 

“Who could help being good to thee ! And, ManTselle, 
we will take walks about and find many beautiful things. 
I never saw so much grow in any country. It seems as 
if the good God saved his choicest gifts and creations 
for this New World. I hope we shall never need to go 
back to France.” 

“I shall not go if the others do,” she answered, de- 
cisively. “I shall live here always.” 

Jaques laughed softly. She was as much in love with 
the New World as he. 

So by degrees Sylvie woke languidly to her older in- 
terest in daily living, but not quite her olden gayety. 
She was so fond of all the out-of-doors creatures, the 
birds knew her and held their heads on one side in 
listening attitude, looking out of bright eyes as she talked 
to them. The swans came at the sound of her voice, the 
ducks rushed hither and thither when she came. 

“Do you suppose it is just because I bring them some 
choice bits,” she asked of Jaques. “The ducks are greedy, 
I know. But oh, how beautiful they are, in all their 
shining array of gold and green and blue and every 
lovely tint mingled! I suppose it is enough for some 
189 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


things just to look beautiful. The flowers cannot under- 
stand affection, yet we give them love for love. ,, 

“Thou art a curious little being,” said Jaques. 

“But Telano really does love. How sorry he seemed 
when I was ill! His face was dismal, and his neck so 
long. He missed Gervaise too, I think.” 

“Ah, he did indeed!” 

“And the house seems so strange and still without him. 
He was always whistling to the birds or singing a merry 
carol. Do you think he cared very much for Claire 
Lavalette? She is ten times sweeter than Zenobie, and 
he used to go there so much.” 

“Oh, no,” Jaques tossed his head. 

“Henri de Longpre is very nice, but he talks all the 
time to Angel. And I cannot tell whether he is laughing 
at me or not. I do not like to be laughed at.” 

“Mam’selle, few of us do,” dryly. “We must try and 
laugh back.” 

Sylvie did not understand how any one could, when one 
was a little hurt. 

Angel did not grow especially fond of Hylas, and he 
preserved a cool indifference toward her. Yet sometimes 
when he studied her with those grave, fathomless eyes, 
she felt sure Monsieur Norton had confided his secret 
to him and she shrank at the uncanny consciousness. 

“We must be the better friends, Hylas,” Sylvie would 
sometimes say when they were wandering about the 
thickets. “I can’t tell any one else, but I am sure Ger- 
vaise did not want to go and she sent him, so you have 
lost your friend, and I mine. It is all very mysterious 
and very sad. As for the Marquis de Brienne — oh, I 
think he must be what is called a myth.” 

Hylas nodded sagely. 


190 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 

It was not Gervaise’s love for Sylvie that Angel had 
been anxious about, but his very great fondness for 
Claire. She gave the same smile and sweetness to 
every one, but it seemed as if that especial one had 
awakened it. How did she manage to be so dainty and 
beguiling and yet keep so innocent at heart? That 
puzzled Angelique. But she could not endure the 
thought that Gervaise should fall so uselessly in love 
and be disappointed. 

Claire came down one morning flushed and smiling, 
with a mysterious sweetness in her eyes and a curious 
sound in her voice. 

“Oh, what has happened ?” cried Angelique. “Nothing 
sad, I know. Gra’mere must be quite as well as usual.” 

“Oh, yes, and very happy. We are all very happy 
and her eyes were full of lustrous light. 

“Then your father must have had some great good 
fortune.” 

“Yes, it is good fortune, I suppose, when children 
marry well. Fathers and mothers are both glad. It is 
natural to make new homes.” 

“You do not mean ” 

“I am to be betrothed on Thursday. There will be a 
little feast, and you must all come. It is a saint day, too. 
We are to go to mass in the morning, and though I shall 
be beside maman, I shall have the delight of knowing he 
is there.” 

“He — who ?” Angelique was vainly trying to think. 

“Ah, you will hardly guess. It is Eugene Fleurien. 
You met him at the General's birthday, I believe. He is 
very fine and attractive, and rumor gave him to the 
Abeilles, but Marie was betrothed a month ago. Last 
week he went and spoke to papa, and he discussed the 
191 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


matter with dear maman, and then Eugene came and, as 
I said, we are to be betrothed and sign the contract/' 

“Are you very much in love with him?” For it seemed 
to Angel as if Claire had taken so much general pleasure 
that some deeper feeling was requisite. She had dis- 
covered charms in all young men. 

“Oh, not until afterward,” and she colored deeply. 
“Then we shall love each other sincerely. It will not be 
a long engagement. He has a large plantation at Pointe 
Coupee, and lives there with his father. His two sisters 
are married, his mother is dead. His father has been 
desirous this last year that he should marry and is so 
pleased that I know I shall be admired.” 

It seemed too prosaic, Angel thought, for such a really 
delightful young girl. 

“Oh, I hope you will be very happy,” she cried. 

“I am sure to be. Eugene is so good and merry, and 
is sure to be a rich man. And now that some one has 
invented what is called a cotton-gin, cotton will be profit- 
able. But they are sugar-cane growers mostly. And, 
Angel, you must come and stay days with me ; there are 
fine rides around, and they have horses. When have 
you heard from Gervaise, and where is he? And that 
curious American who was so charming when he had a 
mind ?” 

No, she had not cared for Gervaise except in a friendly 
fashion, and Gervaise had sent many messages to her and 
said, “I would write to her if it was proper. Do you 
think it might be ?” 

“Only yesterday a letter came. They were at some 
straits in Michigan that it twists your tongue all up to 
pronounce. I did not even get it spelled out. And 
wonderful lakes, oh, many times larger than Lake Pont- 
chartrain, and such copper mines — enough to make a hun- 


192 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


dred people rich. The country is full of Indians, but 
they all seem friendly now.” 

“And the other cousin ?” 

“Oh, they have heard nothing as yet. The American 
had some interest in the copper-working and in furs. 
They will go down to this place called Detroit, and there 
they may learn what befell him.” 

Angelique choked down a little sigh. 

“And now let us find Madame Champe. Maman 
sends the invitations, and you will not be displeased that 
she does not come herself. There is so much to do. 
Though why, I do not see,” laughing gayly. “There is 
always plenty in the house to eat and drink.” 

Madame Champe was taken very much by surprise, 
but she made quite a formal little speech and then gave 
very heartfelt wishes. Yes, they would be sure to come. 
Angelique had never attended a betrothal feast. 

“And the little one, too. Is she quite well ?” 

“Not as well as I could wish,” replied Barbe. “There 
is a little malaise about her, and she grows tall very fast.” 

“She and Zenobie amuse us so. They are always a 
little captious, and say sharp things that papa laughs over 
afterward. But Zenobie envies the splendid dog. Is it 
the American’s ?” 

“Yes. We only have it to keep, though Sylvie’s name 
is on the collar.” 

Claire kissed her friend warmly. She was also going 
to invite two more neighbors. 

“It is quite strange,” commented Barbe. 

“It took me by surprise. I suppose Claire did have a 
preference for him or she could not have consented so 
easily.” 

“Still, if the parents thought it best. They are wiser, 
more experienced and understand what is needed to make 
i93 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


life run smoothly. It is not all romance and a tender 
voice or delightful honeyed words and smiles. And a 
man knows men better than women can.” 

Angelique made no further comment. Madame Henri- 
ade was still very kind to her and showed her many 
favors. 

“But I meet so few desirable people of your religion,” 
she said, “if you are going to let that stand in the way. 
They do not seem to be drawn into my circle, that is the 
trouble.” 

“Oh, do not think of me in that way, Madame. If I 
have your charming friendship, that is all I ask. And 
now I must devote myself to Sylvie.” 

“You are very sweet, ma iille, too sweet to be left to 
fade alone to old age.” 

“Old age is a long way off,” gayly. 

“Sylvie had better go to school and be with other girls,” 
Barbe said one morning. “One knows not what to do 
with her. Only yesterday she was half captivated by 
the life of the Indian girls when that pretty one was in, 
trying to sell her goods. Living in a wigwam and work- 
ing beads into all sorts of things, and rambling through 
forests and canoeing — and I would not trust myself in a 
canoe for a pile of gold.” 

“I must take up Spanish again with her.” 

“And at home girls learned to sew and knit and make 
bread and puddings and preserves, and all sorts of things 
needed in housekeeping. Here the slaves do it for you. 
But among the Acadians there were little girls knitting, 
there were mothers sewing and tending babies. Slaves 
make one idle and helpless.” 

The betrothal was a very delightful and friendly 
occasion. The young couple did not hesitate to show a 
decided preference for each other afterward. The elder 


194 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


Monsieur Fleurien was rather small, a pleasant, white- 
haired man with round cheeks full of the bloom of the 
autumn of life rather than its winter. He was de- 
lighted with his son’s choice, and inclined to hurry the 
marriage forward that they might the sooner have her in 
their home. 

Long engagements were not much in favor. The mat- 
ter was well considered beforehand. Where and how the 
young people would live, and what their income would 
be, was all settled. If it was little, they made themselves 
content and dreamed of better times; if it was liberal, 
they might be gay enough between whiles when no babies 
claimed the first share of love and attention. For mother- 
hood was one of the great factors in that old life. 

Father Charlier and Father Moras of the convent were 
both present, and their blessing was almost as solemn as 
a marriage benediction. Everybody rejoiced, and there 
was much cordial good feeling and pleasantry. And 
though in the cafes and cabarets and at some of the 
officers’ houses there might be drunkenness and carous- 
ing, disputes ending in duels, one found little of it in 
private families. There was much merry-making with- 
out any excess. 

“Thou wilt soon have another daughter to husband,” 
said Pere Fleurien, with a smile, as he watched Zenobie. 
“She is of high mettle. Madame, I think my son has the 
choice, but I wish as good a husband for her as Mam’selle 
Claire will get. And we shall both give thanks many a 
time for your wise up-bringing.” 

“Yes. Zenobie will soon leave the convent now. She 
is, as you say, of high spirit, but a good girl, full of affec- 
tion and respect.” 

Zenobie was growng tall rapidly, and piquant rather 
than really handsome, but vivacious and capable of doing 
195 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


much execution with her eyes, which had not the demure 
sweetness of Claire’s, but would, no doubt, be as danger- 
ous. Sylvie looked pale and thin, but her golden hair 
was like a cloud about her. And though many at that 
age wore it in a high knot with a comb or a great cluster 
of bows, Sylvie’s flowed free in a mass of shining waves, 
the ends breaking into curls. Girls were very simply 
dressed in those days. A white gown, scant and ankle 
length, with perhaps a ruffle around the bottom ; a short 
waist, square in the neck, with a little lace edging, and 
perhaps a string of beads. Sylvie wore her pretty corals. 

Laure Gorgas was outside of all this. For that matter, 
she had no real standing, belonged to no particular class. 
At the convent there was small distinction made, but 
outside it was quite different, for a girl who knew nothing 
about her parents. 

So Sylvie was almost adored when she went down to 
Mere Milhet’s. Dolamine and Lucie were delighted with 
a bit of gossip, and Laure listened wide-eyed. 

“Zenobie will sit on the topmost round of the ladder 
now, and step on the fingers of those who venture to 
climb,” Laure declared, sharply. “It is a very fine mar- 
riage, everybody says. And Zenobie will soon leave the 
convent and be a young lady having lovers. See what it 
is to have a father with money !” 

“I have no father and no money,” said the little one, 
soberly. 

“Then you’ll have hard work getting a husband, 
Mam’selle, unless you grow very handsome.” 

Sylvie smiled with inward comfort. She had a husband 
already. When she was twelve she might announce it. 
And now Claire would not want him. 

“What are you smiling about ?” queried Laure. 

196 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


“Angelique could have had a nice husband and she had 
no money,” replied the child, with quick wit. 

“Mam’selle Angelique is handsome.” Then, soften- 
ing a little, “It is very good of you, Sylvie, to come and 
tell us all about it. And the old gra’mere has taken a 
fancy to you, I hear ; but she is so old I should not think 
she could tell one girl from another. Did they bring her 
down ?” 

“Oh, no. A procession went up. The priests first, 
then M. and Madame Lavalette and the young people. 
All the guests did not go. It was very pretty. I shall 
go to see her married.” 

“Ah, Mam’selle Sylvie, if you could but find your way 
to the true Church. I pray for you.” 

Pointe Coupee was considerably more than a hundred 
miles above the old city, but, though given mostly to large 
plantations, was the centre for trade with the posts of 
Natchez, with Baton Rouge, Natchitoches, and also the 
Southern ports as well as the city. One of the most 
prominent planters of the province was M. Poydras, who 
had taken such a warm interest in the young Princes. 
His was a rather romantic story. Roger Norton had told 
it over to them one afternoon, sitting in the old garden. 
While in the French navy he had been taken prisoner 
and sent to England, where he spent his time wisely in 
acquiring the language. He managed to escape and 
made his way to Louisiana just in time to see it become 
a Spanish possession. The river filled him with dreams 
of commerce, and he travelled from plantation to planta- 
tion, supplying families with needful wares until he had 
accumulated sufficient to purchase this point and enlarge 
his business. Gentle in disposition, honest to the most 
scrupulous degree, he presently had the trade from 

197 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


St. Louis to Florida. Now he had built a cotton gin in 
two places, and his plantation had been added to as far as 
False River. Other planters had settled there, Fleurien 
being among the earlier ones. 

Now M. Poydras went up and down the river in his 
own boats, and dealt in all kinds of merchandise as well 
as furs. He had planned to visit France as the Revolution 
broke out, but he was so shocked by the excesses that he 
could only pity his unhappy country and most kindly 
assist the refugees. His manly heart was full of sym- 
pathy for his fellow-creatures. He had rescued more 
than one poor slave from misery and given him a com- 
fortable home. 

Claire was full of delight. In a certain way she had 
grown very fond of Angelique, though their natures were 
so different. She had the warmth and effervescence of 
the Creole, restrained up to a certain point, joyous, con- 
tent with what was not hers at present, but could be by 
and by. Marriage she counted on; there were but two 
spheres for women, convent life and marriage. Young 
men had been mostly alike to her. It was their province 
to say pretty, complimentary things; to hold one’s fan 
and gloves ; to carry one’s shawl ; to gather choice flowers 
if a party were out for a ramble, well chaperoned, to be 
sure ; to dance with ; perhaps to raise one’s eyes and meet 
other eyes in speechless adoration — a glance to be remem- 
bered all one’s life, yet having nothing of longing or a 
taint of infidelity in it when she is a happy wife and 
mother. 

Claire could recall more than one such glance. Of 
them all, she had wondered who would have the right to 
her hand and heart. More than one of them had a charm. 
And then Pere Fleurien had come down from Pointe 
Coupee and held an interview with Monsieur Lavalette, 
198 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


and everything ran along smoothly. Eugene was young, 
good-looking, in fair circumstances, his father’s idol, 
tender, well mannered, and with a fund of endearing ex- 
pressions. What more could a well-trained girl ask? 

“But won’t it be lonely up there on the large plantations 
that are miles in extent? And you have such tender 
parents, so many fine friends, so many balls and gayeties, 
and the pleasant walks down around the Plaza when the 
band is playing. Do you love him so well that you will 
be content there alone ” 

Claire gave a soft, satisfied, amused laugh as she in- 
terrupted Angelique with : 

“Alone ! Why, I shall have Eugene all the time,” and 
her eyes were sufifused with a tender, triumphant light. 
“Now, it is only a brief while, now and then, he has to 
come down the river and cannot stay long, and” — blushing 
in a spasm of self-surrender — “there can be so little talk. 
But our eyes say, ‘Do you love me?’ We both ask the 
same question, chcrie Angel, and both give the same 
answer from our full hearts, and understand. And the 
clasp of the hand, the gift of flowers, the little murmurs 
that are the music of love’s tongue! Maman is very 
good, she has little errands away, or chatters to Felice, 
but when we have each other all the time!” and Claire 
sighed with a sensation of anticipated bliss that seemed to 
exhale the delight of hope from every pulse. 

Angelique looked and wondered. Had Gervaise been 
older, could she have loved him so supremely, or Henri de 
Longpre ? Both had given her a boy’s worship. 

“And there will be Papa Fleurien to cherish and make 
happy. He might not have approved me, or he might 
have chosen some one else, so I must be sweet and grate- 
ful. He loves me, and if a girl cannot be content with the 
adoration of two men, she must be ungrateful indeed ! Ah, 


199 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Mademoiselle, perhaps the girls brought up in New France 
— for it will always be that to us as long as it bears the 
name of King Louis — are not so cold by nature, have not 
been so trained — how shall I put it ? — are not ashamed to 
dream of love, which must be a woman’s crown always. 
Oh, yes, I shall be very happy and not lonely. And if 
the good God should send us children ” 

No, Angel could never have cared for or wanted to 
spend days and weeks with Senor Torres. 

It was odd Claire should recall the same person. 

“We were all so sorry about Monsieur Torres. You 
do not understand how love comes when one has the 
right; it is like the plant that flowers when its time 
arrives and everything is appropriate. And did you hear 
— I suppose you do not mind” — with a deprecating 
glance out of her half-raised eyes — “that Monsieur is to 
marry Mam’selle Aurore, whose aunt is rich and very 
fond of her, and does not deny that she will give her 
handsome settlements ?” 

“He was very generous then to want me without any 
dot ” and Angel paid him a sudden, heartfelt respect. 

“Well — there was the good birth — the cousin of a 
Marquis,” laughed Claire. “And who knows but a 
fortune may come some day ?” 

While the marriage was to be quite an affair in one 
respect, there was no great display as in modern times. 
The trousseau was simple and serviceable ; she was to wear 
all gra’mere’s jewels to church, then they were to be re- 
stored to the strong box until Zenobie needed them, and 
at gra’mere’s death were to be divided among the three 
girls. There would be some jewels awaiting Madame at 
Pointe Coupee, the gift of her father-in-law. 

“It is such a sorrow you cannot be one of the maids,” 
Claire said, delicately, a fortnight beforehand. “But there 


200 


DIFFERENT PHASES OF LOVE. 


will be a mass, which you do not use. We think it right 
to begin our lives with that blessing of the good God. 
But you are to visit me, you and the little Sylvie, and we 
will go over to M. Poydras, whom you will like so much. 
He has books and music, and is so charming one wonders 
why he never married. He has been so good to some 
young people, putting them on their feet, and helping 
them to win homes. Oh, yes, you will come often, and 
the dear Madame Champe. And we will wait for what 
the good Father has in store for you. I know you will 
be happy, you are so amiable and devoted. ,, 

The marriage was indeed a pretty occasion. The 
Cathedral was mostly finished now, and already boasted 
some fine gifts from various patrons. And then there 
was the journey to the wharf, and though the mode of 
conveyance was only a flatboat, one of M. Poydras’s own 
that he had kindly proffered his neighbor, there was a 
new tent spread out on it, and flags were flying, while the 
slaves were attired in their best and gayest, and full of 
grinning mirth. It was quite a gala day, and the happy 
young couple started with a freight of good wishes that 
were given in sincerity. 

“Oh, dear!” cried Sylvie as they entered the old gate, 
“how lonesome it will be now ! I wish some one else 
would marry. I saw Laure among the school children, 
and I expect she will talk about it for a month. Zenobie 
looked very grand, didn’t she, Angel ? And now she will 
be Mademoiselle Lavalette. Laure says she is sure to 
marry Henri.” 

“What nonsense you children do talk !” said Barbe. 


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A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

OF MANY THINGS. 

Yes, it was lonely; Angelique felt sometimes that she 
could hardly endure it. Madame Henriade was as 
charming as ever, but there was no Gervaise to shield 
her with brotherly attentions when others became 
obtrusive. So she went less into society. 

Education among women was not at all advanced at 
this period. The French schools had been quite dis- 
countenanced, and they taught about the same branches 
as the Ursulines, except that they did aim to keep 
alive a certain knowledge of French and its literature. 
But to be sweet, amiable, and vivacious, to receive com- 
pliments gracefully, to dress prettily, to lower the eyes 
in modest delight when a man talked to you, to be able 
to make a good impression as much on some one’s father 
or mother as on himself, was about all the aims a woman 
needed. And yet it is true they made delightful wives 
and devoted mothers. Of the undercurrent even then 
seething in New Orleans they were supposed to know 
nothing. They heard the band on the Plaza, attended by 
some male relatives as well as a chaperon, they went dec- 
orously to the theatre when the plays were moral; but 
the husbands and sons attended dances where beautiful 
quadroons in the airiest of raiment disported themselves 
as paid dancers, and sometimes there was quite a rivalry 
between managers for these attractions. 

Angelique had met with an adventure one day ; a pale, 
rather care-worn-looking woman had been making some 
purchases at a store kept by a Spaniard who had the 
reputation of underselling his brethren. It was a miser- 


202 


OF MANY THINGS. 


able place and seemed to have a strange assortment. She 
was looking at a beautiful vase that some poor body had 
doubtless sold at a sacrifice. A fierce sound on the one 
side, a beseeching appeal on the other, and she glanced at 
the disputants. The man was small, savage-eyed, with 
great earrings in his ears, and a long black beard; the 
woman slim and fair, frightened to the last degree. 

“Oh, Madame,” she cried, “I have lost my purse. I 
am quite sure I had it when I entered the store. I would 
give back the articles, but he will not have them, and 
threatens me with arrest. Oh, what shall I do?” 

“She is a swindler,” cried the man, in a jargon of both 
French and Spanish. “They come in here often. They 
lose their purses ! She shall be arrest ! I will not suffer 
any longer.” 

Jaques stood talking with an acquaintance a few doors 
away. Angelique had wandered on. She glanced at 
him, then said to the woman : 

“How much is it ?” 

She tremblingly mentioned the sum. 

“It is a lie,” he shouted. “You mean to cheat. I will 
have you taken to jail !” 

“What do you say the amount is?” Angelique asked 
with an air of authority as she saw Jaques approaching. 

“I will not be cheated, I tell you ” 

“Monsieur Champe, will you inquire into this matter 
and pay the man what is due ?” she requested with 
dignity. “Hear the woman’s story first.” 

The shopkeeper curbed his furious passion, though he 
still contradicted the woman. “Come,” said Angelique, 
leading her into the narrow street which seemed to be an 
offshoot. 

“Oh, how can I thank you ” 

“You are not French,” remarked Angelique. 

203 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“No, Madame, an American. I ought not have gone 
in that place, but I bought some articles last week very 
cheap, and saw something else I needed. I went there 
to-day. I am sure I laid my purse down. He tumbled 
some goods over it, and when I looked he was angry and 
called me names. I don’t know what I would have done 
but for you. Oh, God reward you !” 

“Was it all the money you had with you?” Angelique 
asked, delicately. 

“All I had in the world, Madame. I bought my bread 
and a bit of meat first — I have two hungry boys,” and 
she flushed. 

“Jaques rejoined them. He had beaten the man down 
to his customer’s amount, but the purse had not been 
found. They walked on together. 

“Do you live in this direction?” Angelique questioned. 

“Yes, Madame. A little street called Beauvier. My 
husband is a boatman. He is seldom away so long as 
this, and there are so many stories of pirates about the 
Gulf. I have been much worried. My two boys are at 
work in one of the warehouses on the levee. It is not 
good, but boys cannot starve. And I give lessons some- 
times. But so few people care to learn English. Oh, I 
desire to go East again. We thought there were better 
chances here, but ” 

The tears that she was too proud to wipe away over- 
flowed her eyes. 

“I have been trying to learn a little English,” said 
Angelique, “but my cousin went away.” 

“Oh, if Madame would allow me to restore the money 
that way ” 

“You are quite welcome to it. I am glad we rescued 
you. Do not go into the shop again.” 

“Indeed, I shall not. But, Madame, can you not under- 
204 


OF MANY THINGS. 


stand how much better satisfied I would be to pay the 
debt ? I am honest,” with an accent of pride. 

Something in the face interested Angelique, and she 
had so few sources of interest now. 

“If you like to have it so. Afterward you may con- 
tinue them,” with her charming smile that warmed the 
troubled heart. “But it is a long way out — on the 
St. John road.” 

She was too delicate to propose to come into town, yet 
the woman looked so worn she was sorry to put her to 
the trouble. 

“It is so beautiful in that direction, Madame — I am 
not sure it is Madame ” coloring deeply. 

“No,” Angelique smiled with charming grace. 

“I said so in the shop because I did not see that you 
were attended. Marriage carries so much weight here, 
and that beast might have insulted a young girl.” 

“Thank you for that thoughtfulness.” 

“Girls marry so young here. Oh, I like the East 
much better. I could have courage to walk all the way 
back, but one must needs eat. And there are the boys. 
Mam’selle, will you allow me to come to-morrow ?” 

“If you prefer, yes.” 

“We sometimes walk out that way on Sundays. There 
is no Protestant Church, you see, and the way is so 
beautiful one can worship God by the roadside. In that 
direction there is a very pretty girl who has a hound 
which belonged to an American, a Mr. Norton.” 

“Oh, do you know him?” 

“My husband did a little. He is a very fine, generous 
man. My boys thought the dog so splendid, and they 
have seen it with the child.” 

“She is my cousin. We will both study English.” 

“You are so good, Mam’selle. I can never thank 
you.” 


205 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“It was only a little thing.” Angelique colored now. 

“It is the little things that show people’s goodness. 
Great things may be done from any other motive. Here 
is my street, not a very fine situation, but the house is not 
bad, and I could not endure the crowded rows. Why, 
when there was so much room, did they build so close 
together?” 

“They had then to think of defence from enemies. 
And it is improving all the time; Jaques” — who was 
walking behind, — “this lady is to come up to-morrow. 
I shall explain to Aunt.” 

The woman made her adieus in a manner that showed 
she was not ignorant of the usages of society. Then the 
two walked on. 

“Are you quite sure, Mam’selle, it is the proper thing 
to do? You know nothing about the woman,” Jaques 
began in an anxious tone. 

“No, I am not sure it is. She is an American, and 
certainly shows some breeding. I felt very sorry for her. 
We found sc many friends on our coming here, and we 
ought to help others if we can. I am tired of ray little 
round and long for something different. Shall I marry, 
Monsieur Jaques ?” 

She turned her face archly and smiled out of sparkling 
eyes. 

“There is no one now that Master Gervaise is gone — 
and all demoiselles need looking after.” 

“Oh, yes, you are a host in yourself. See how soon 
you brought that beast of a shopkeeper to terms. And 
Barbel Then there is the American’s dog.” 

“And Carlos would tear any one in pieces. But every 
day I think how wild it was to let M’sieu Gervaise go 
away. For I know Sieur Hugh must be dead.” 

Angelique sighed. She was losing faith herself. 

206 


OF MANY THINGS. 


Barbe hesitated a little over the new acquaintance. 
Sylvie was all curiosity and eagerness. 

“I know quite a good many English words,” she said. 
“I repeat them to Hylas. Do you suppose he was bom 
in America ?” 

“Why, it is all America, Sylvie. I wish we knew a 
little more about the country. If it was the fashion to 
learn a great many things !” 

Angelique sighed. A girl's life bounded only by 
needlework, French and Spanish, a few pleasures, balls 
and dancing, festas in which they only looked on, and 
marriage, seemed narrow. A curious discontent stirred 
within her, a kind of awakening that she longed for and 
dreaded. Did ever a young girl before want things and 
not know what they were ? 

Mrs. Murch came the next morning. She had a rather 
faded gingham gown, and a white kerchief about her 
shoulders. Now they could see a striking difference 
between her and most of the women they met. She had 
none of the languorous softness of the South. She had 
not even that sort of repressed dignity that characterized 
Barbe. Her complexion was fair ; now her skin seemed 
full of minute blue veins that gave it a striking pallor. 
Her hair was brown and worn smoothly, not indebted 
to the hair-dresser’s art or ideas. Her face was thin and 
long, her features rather aquiline, her voice smooth, low, 
but rather weak. She was not at all effusive, though one 
could see the gratitude in her eyes. 

Before her marriage she had been a school-teacher in 
an Eastern town. Everything was so different here, she 
admitted. A few accomplishments and the catechism 
seemed all that was necessary. “But at the East you 
learned about countries, products, what people had done, 
what they were doing, the principles of government, 
207 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


the true purposes of religion, the advancement of 
humanity.” 

“But are women never laughed at? There was the 
Hotel Rambouillet and La Precieuses in Paris ” 

Yes. Mrs. Murch knew about them. And kings and 
queens and wars and conquests. 

“But that is not learning English,” said Mrs. Murch, 
with a faint smile. “I have brought a primer with me. 
Have you any books ?” 

Gervaise had left one of his. 

Sylvie was delighted and eager. She too was a little 
tired of the round, of Laure’s inconsequent complaining, 
of Hortense’s passionate adoration. As for Zenobie, she 
held her head loftily these days. And the crane appeared 
to have reached the limit of his educational faculties. 
Hylas alone never wearied her. 

Mrs. Murch was to come three days in a week. The 
salary seemed much too high for the services she de- 
clared. Angelique thought it rather meagre, but their 
own income was not large. Barbe was quite stiff at first, 
but she soon became interested in the poor woman, who 
must at one time have been such a lady. They could 
hardly understand how a person of so much refinement 
could cheerfully consent to take up menial employments 
even in her own home. 

Hylas approved of her. He was rather aristocratic 
too. And when one Sunday the boys were allowed to 
come up and renew acquaintance with him, they were 
wild with delight. Anthon had once carried Mr. Nor- 
ton’s valise for him, though the little negroes or big ones 
either, generally took such jobs as their share. Dick was 
younger ; both were blue-eyed and sunburned, even as to 
hair. No one knew what their mother suffered when 
they started off in their shrunken white suits, and bare- 
208 


OF MANY THINGS. 


footed ; still they were clean and merry, and thought New 
Orleans a marvellous place. 

'‘But we’re sure to go back,” said Anthon, decidedly. 
“I shouldn’t want to live here always unless I could have 
a garden and a house like this.” 

“I never saw such a funny crane,” laughed Dick. “I’ve 
seen performing dogs, and I think you could teach Hylas 
anything, only he is so fine and grand you would hate to 
see him do ridiculous things! Think of his trying to 
dance like Telano!” and the boy laughed heartily. 

The conversation was carried on in a rather funny 
manner. The boys had picked up a good deal of French 
and Spanish, but when they talked in real earnest they 
ran off on a siding which was English. Sylvie had to 
question and puzzle her brain, then they would all laugh 
at the misunderstandings. 

“It’s been splendid!” declared Sylvie, breathlessly. “I 
like boys better than girls. They have so many things to 
talk about. And they are not so silly. Then they do 
not keep telling you ” 

Sylvie paused suddenly and turned scarlet. 

“How to behave?” inquired Angelique, mirthfully. 
“And all your little faults ?” 

Sylvie was about to say, “How beautiful and how dear 
you are!” For Hortense had begun to weary her with 
“ mere ange ! My little heart ! My sweetest flower ; my 
star of light, I love you!” And yet as the boys were 
going away, Dick looked her straight in the face and ex- 
claimed, with the candor of one not yet in his teens : 

“I never saw any one as beautiful as you, Miss Sylvie. 
You look like an angel with all that golden hair and your 
eyes just the color of heaven.” 

So the little girl locked that up with her other secrets. 
It had not even called a blush to her cheek. 


209 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Hylas had enjoyed the boys wonderfully, too. He had 
run races with them, being compelled by his wilful 
mistress to give them long odds and then distance them 
in the end. They had rolled and tumbled about until the 
white suits were almost the color of the dog. He had 
found articles hidden away, he had brought sticks, and if 
he could not dance, the supple curves of his long lithe 
body and slim legs were splendid. 

Sylvie was tired and swung in the hammock. Hylas 
went over to Angelique, who sat puzzling over some 
words in the barbarous language that sounded so strong 
and forceful as the boys uttered the ringing sentences. 

“Why do you look at me so,” she asked, with a kind 
of sweet indignation. “It is as if you knew — every- 
thing !” 

Yes, it was as if he said, “Do you remember my 
master? Wherever he goes he carries about with him 
your image. He never forgets you any more than I 
forget him.” 

Then she kept her eyes fixed steadily on her book. 

So they studied and blundered and laughed and 
listened to Mrs. Murch’s stories about girls at the East, 
and books and wonderful lives of dead and gone people 
that were fast spoiling them for the dreamy, languid life 
and the chatter about lovers to come, and settlements for 
the future. Letters too from Gervaise. They had found 
some tidings of Hugh. He had been in several Indian 
skirmishes, wounded in one and carried off a prisoner, 
nursed by an old Indian woman in a solitary wigwam. 

Some one had found it later on burned to the ground. 
It was said a friend had taken the sick man to the South. 
And there all trace of him stopped. They were going 
on to the eastward, would visit some of the larger cities 
and see the President of this great, new nation. “Oh,” 


210 


OF MANY THINGS. 


Gervaise wrote, “I do not wonder Norton is an enthusi- 
astic American. The wonderful achievements are almost 
enough to turn one’s brain.” 

And now autumn was coming on with its greater rich- 
ness of foliage, its luscious fruits, its gorgeous flowers, 
its sunsets full of splendor, the soft languor giving way 
to a kind of briskness even in pleasure. 

One day Claire Fleurien surprised them by a visit. 
Eugene had come down to see some sugar-buyers, Claire 
for a visit home, and they were to bring back Angelique 
and the little Sylvie. 

“But she is no longer little,” in amaze. “Papa 
Fleurien held Felice on his knee and told her baby stories, 
but, merci! Sylvie is a big girl. And now you will be in 
season to see the sugar-making. There is so much on a 
big plantation. Ours is large, but M. Poydras’s is like 
a little town, only not gay with balls and cafes and bal- 
conies full of pretty, gayly dressed women. Ah, New 
Orleans is charming, and I shall come down when the 
holidays set in for a visit. Eugene and I — papa has 
consented, and we shall dance and be merry to our heart’s 
content.” 

Claire was a little rounder and rosier and suggested 
her mother, so fresh and vivacious that she made one’s 
blood start with enjoyment and hope. 

To make a visit on a big plantation and to stay at the 
sugar-making ! They had gone out to Monsieur de 
Bore’s for a day at a time, but this would be quite dif- 
ferent. And Claire with all her brightness ! 

“If I could only take Hylas and Telano,” sighed 
Sylvie. “Nothing is ever quite perfect.” 

Telano had spent many sad hours since the advent of 
Hylas. 

“It is queer,” Sylvie had complained a little to Barbe, 


21 1 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“that if there are two to care for you, one is always jealous. 
Hortense adores Zenobie herself, but she does not want 
me to like her very much, and Zenobie always flings out 
about Hortense, and can’t see why I should care for her. 
And then she accuses me of a penchant for poor Laure, 
who has no one to love her. Not that Laure is really 
lovable, but one feels sorry for her. Madame Milhet is 
good in a duty way, but Laure is soon going to live in the 
convent.” 

“The best place for her, since she has no people.” 

“And if I had none, would I have been put in a convent, 
Barbe?” 

“God forbid !” Barbe embraced her fondly. “Though 
the Sisters are good to the poor and the orphans and the 
friendless, and try to civilize the little Indians. There 
must be good in any belief that leads you to worship God 
and be upright and honest and love your neighbor. Per- 
haps all cannot believe alike.” 

Barbe sighed a little. She had grown broader in this 
new country. 

“So I cannot take you, Hylas,” Sylvie said to the dog, 
who listened with sorrowful eyes. “But the little 
Murch boys shall come up on Sunday ; they are so fond 
of you, and you can have a good romp with them. If 
you only could understand Telano you might condole with 
each other, for he will miss me still more than you. Jaques 
is so fond of you, and Father Antoine when he comes 
over, while no one but Viny can sympathize with poor 
Telano.” 

Hylas understood it all, but his answer had a plaint 
in it, and he put his nose in Sylvie’s small hand, while his 
eyes were sorrowful. 

“And M’sieu Norton doesn’t forget you either.” 


212 


POINTE COUPEE. 


The whine had a sound of tender appreciation in it. 
The ears were erect, he looked as if he could fly. 

Barbe at the last was quite unwilling to have the child 
go. She had never been separated from her. But Ange- 
lique had grown so staid and careful, and would see that 
no misfortune happened to her. 

“Why, Pm not a baby any longer / 5 laughed Sylvie. 
“Jaques finds me heavy when he carries me over marshy 
places, and even Viny says I am a load to lift. Before 
very long I shall be twelve years old . 55 


CHAPTER XV. 

POINTE COUPEE. 

Up the river they went in the brilliant morning 
sunshine. They had been down around the lakes, clear 
down to the curious wide-spreading delta, with its tortuous 
channels, its low swampy lands green with the luxuriance 
of tropical growths and often brilliant with strange 
flowers, as well as all manner of animal life that made the 
child shudder and shut her eyes. They had been up a 
short distance sailing, but since Gervaise had gone and 
Henri had been taken into his father’s counting-house, 
pleasures of this kind had been restricted. 

The yellow mud banks were cut into by crevasses that 
still swept and swirled and made picturesque whirlpools, 
then washed out to the channel as if suddenly possessed 
by some superior ambition to reach the Gulf. Great 
inroads had been made here and there, whole slices torn 
away and a bay formed. 


213 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“It was here in one of the hurricanes that Monsieur 
d’Arvil’s house was swept away,” said Claire. “The 
river had eaten into the bank and he had been warned, 
but the house stood on a little bluff. He had gone down 
to the city on business when the storm came up. It was 
terrific ! All the sky in the blackness of the deepest night, 
when not even a star is out! And such a rush of wind 
that nothing could live in it. There were his wife and 
his three little children, and his mother. One could not 
hear in the crashing of the storm that uprooted trees and 
howled like a demon. The slaves left their quarters for 
very terror and huddled about their mistress. And sud- 
denly there was a great roar and crash and the house 
went over into the river. A few of the slaves escaped. 
Monsieur d’Arvil went crazy over the loss.” 

“Oh, how terrible !” cried Angelique. 

It was now a little arm of the river with muddy banks 
and slimy growths, with wild fowl drowsing in the nooks. 
Snakes squirmed and rose to the surface, dodged again, 
and from the hoary trees left, some blackened by lightning, 
swung long filmy veils of moss that one could almost take 
for a procession of ghosts. Back of this the sun gilded 
the tops of the wide stretch of woods, and all about was 
bewildering light and color. 

Here and there was a large rambling planter’s house, 
a dock with a few boats being loaded or lying idly at 
anchor; great fields and plantations as far as the eye 
could reach. Settlements that were to be busy little 
towns later on; a river tranquil, almost lonely now, for 
it was hardly time for the small rush of freight they 
called business then. 

They sat under the wide awning that protected them 
from the heat of the sunshine. Claire had a piece of lace- 
work, and gossiped in her soft, purling voice. Angelique 
214 


POINTE COUPEE. 


hardly knew whether she listened or not, it was so strange 
and captivating. A bit of Latin she had read with Ger- 
vaise came into her mind — something about a voyager 
and sirens tempting him to rest on charmed shores. 
Would they come out of these beautiful woods if one 
waited long enough? And those other earlier explorers 
and voyagers, how did it look to them when they saw it 
for the first time ? Oh, where did it begin up in that wild 
and wonderful northland? 

A canoe of Indians passed them, some flat-bottomed 
boats loaded with produce with which they exchanged 
greetings, some one coming down with all their worldly 
effects, emigrants, children running about, and now 
staring at their passing neighbor. Sylvie ran around, 
guarded by Nourette, Claire’s maid, full of gay, wonder- 
ful surprise, chattering in French and limited Spanish, 
with now and then a word of her recently acquired 
English. 

It was slow travelling in those days, though some im- 
provements had been made. Yet these people had not 
been smitten with the rush of haste, nor impressed with 
the preciousness of time that leads to new inventions. 
They were still to a degree idyllic. 

When they came up to the wharf there were the 
plantation wagons, clumsy enough with their bevy of 
slaves, to unload and load again. And there was Claire’s 
team of pretty white mules beautifully kept as if to 
emphasize the difference between white and black or 
the many shades of brown. 

“Papa ! papa ! Ah, have you been lonely all this long 
while? I sent a prayer night and morning. And I am 
so loaded with remembrances that it will take a week to 
give them all to you. It has been, oh, just delicious! but 
I am glad to come back to you.” 

215 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


The small elderly man kissed his blooming daughter 
on both cheeks. She was glad to get back to him. That 
brightened all the hours of loneliness as if the sun had 
suddenly shone in a cave. 

And here was Mademoiselle Saucier. 

There ensued a pretty, courtly greeting. He raised 
the soft young hand to his lips. People were polite in 
those days. 

“Ah, Bebe,” to Claire, “you promised a little girl,” as 
he studied Sylvie half in disappointment. 

“No I am not a little girl any more,” said Sylvie, with 
an enchanting smile. “I was when we came from 
France.” 

“Ah, pretty blossom, so was I little, just eight years 
old. It is long ago. I have thought to go back, but 
why — when old friends have passed elsewhere?” 

“I do not want to go back,” returned Sylvie. “I like 
the river better ; you can see the banks and the trees are 
almost like people, but the ocean is so wide and dreary. 
And the pirates !” 

“Ah, yes, my child!” smiling. “But thou wilt be 
proud to tell thy grandchildren. A little girl from old 
France, La Belle France! Mademoiselle,” to Angelique, 
“thou at least must remember a good deal ?” 

“She saw the poor King and Queen that they put to 
death,” exclaimed Sylvie. “But I only knew De Brienne 
and Dessiers. I like this better because there are so many 
more people.” 

Monsieur Fleurien smiled and nodded as a tall slave 
assisted them in. He and his son went in another 
vehicle. 

Angelique thought the Lavalettes’ a spacious old house, 
but it seemed as if to this there was no end. On to the 
somewhat massive brick cottage had been added ells and 
216 


POINTE COUPEE. 


wings, some of them but one story, with curious peaked 
roofs where little windows hung out, enlarged by a 
gallery. The main part had a great projecting roof 
that was like a hood. On one side a large garden, with 
a hedge of wild orange and flower-beds of every con- 
ceivable shape, now abloom with the fierce colors of 
autumn, instead of the delicate shades of spring. And 
farther on great magnolias, palms, oaks, stretching out 
indeed to a protecting forest. In the front were vistas 
of the river, then above plantations of cane that appeared 
endless. 

Within it was plain. Some of the floors were tiled, a few 
polished, but most of them scrubbed to a delightful white- 
ness, one might almost say fragrance, for all the air was 
sweet. Massive pieces of furniture stood widely apart 
with no graceful little articles of prettiness to break the 
stiff look. Only here and there a great jar of flowers 
or tropical grasses waving feathery fronds when the 
wind blew through the open windows. 

It was on so large a scale that it seemed a world by 
itself, Angelique thought. And truly it was, several 
worlds. Claire’s apartments with some modern furnish- 
ings wore one aspect. Her windows overlooked the 
garden. The living part was gloomy, undeniably 
so. Then adjoining were Monsieur Fleurien’s rooms. 
Sitting, sleeping chamber, office where all complaints 
were heard and business transacted ; another for accounts, 
the keeping of books and all private matters. Still another 
where the slaves came, were called to account, and 
sentenced to punishment, or listened to when sorrows 
and trouble were their portion. In one way a strict hand 
was kept over them, in another it was the idyllic period of 
slavery, and this master was a friend. 

The cane fields stood in magnificent maturity. It had 
217 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


been a fine season. The long green leaves curling and 
waving luxuriantly when the breeze touched them ; the 
great stalks, yielding to the stroke of the sharp cane knife, 
fell in rows like ranks of soldiers swept down. There 
was a subtle activity everywhere. Great masculine, 
heavy-limbed negroes, the lithe younger ones with their 
sinuous bodies, the water-carriers with graceful, alert 
movements occasionally dodging a rough and not ill- 
natured blow, the monotonous singing that kept time to 
the labor, the evenings when the gangs returned home 
with their mules and wagons and tools, men and women 
with sudden hilarity welcoming the coming night as 
something that belonged to them. 

Down the long rows of negro cabins there was a 
cheerful sound and savory smell of coming supper. 
Nearly naked babies, black and shining, tumbled about, 
played, quarrelled, screamed with blows showered upon 
them or made the place ring with merriment. 

“There are so many of them !” cried Sylvie, in amaze- 
ment. “I should think you would have to count them !” 

Papa Fleurien laughed. His teeth were still sound 
and white, and his lips red as if with the fires of youth. 

“Yes, we do, when the New Year comes in. Ah, 
that is a grand time, a holiday. But it is not sugar-making 
all the year round. And here there are only four or five 
hundred. Ah, you should see my neighbor, M. Poydras. 
There is a man for you ! Seven hundred perhaps to feed 
and clothe and watch and make work, for, look you, they 
are lazy. It was born in them ages ago.” 

“They did not have to work in their own land.” 

M. Fleurien shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ah, that is a grand mistake. They were made slaves 
even there. They had to fight for their masters. They 
were killed by scores when their chief died. Some 
218 


POINTE COUPEE. 

were buried alive even. They were made to draw heavy 
loads, for there were no other beasts of burden. They 
were worse than the Indians. And here they have good 
homes. If it is a bad season they do not starve. And 
they have much enjoyment in their way. We cannot all 
be alike !” 

Sylvie laughed. “Oh, it is the difference that makes 
the world so entertaining. Now, I should not like to be 
a nun and always wear the same kind of gown and coif, 
and talk in the same low tone, and always take the same 
little walks and sleep in the same cell and have no 
journeys ” 

“Thou surely art not meant for a nun.” He studied 
the bright dimpled face and the heavenly blue eyes. 
“Thou art born to make some man’s heart glad and per- 
haps give an ache to others. But the nuns are very good. 
They have the vocation of God, who puts it in their 
hearts.” 

If there were not so many books to read in those days, 
there were reminiscences that have been the starting-point 
of histories and tales. And nothing pleased Monsieur 
Fleurien better than to sit with his family around him 
when the day with its work was ended, for it was really 
ended at that period, and talk over the times when he was 
young. He was past sixty now and had not married 
until after thirty. He and his father had come to New 
Orleans under the old French government, and expected 
to make a fortune in indigo. He too remembered when 
the patriot Lafreniere had harangued the planters and 
townsmen, and exhorted them to strike for liberty, and 
failed, as so many early struggles have. And then there 
had been barely three thousand souls in all the province. 
And he had fought under Galvez when the British were 
planning to take New Orleans. 

219 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Oh, were you really a soldier?” cried Sylvie, her 
eyes alight with enthusiasm. This small man with his 
delicate wrinkled face! For to her it seemed as if all 
soldiers should be tall and strong and youthful. 

“Ah, yes. And though we did not love Spain, we 
hated England, and we fought for our homes, or at least 
the land we claimed. We remembered how England had 
driven out the Acadians, and perhaps she might drive us 
away too. Ah, he was a brave young fellow and one 
can’t help honoring him for all his Spanish blood. There 
was Manchac and Baton Rouge, and the Acadians had a 
chance to strike back, which they did bravely. And the 
next year he took Fort Charlotte on the Mobile. After 
that I came home with a wound. But he and General 
Miro went on until they had conquered the whole of West 
Florida. We came up in this wild land and traded and 
raised myrtle wax, and made poor brown sugar until 
Monsieur de Bore turned it white with his magic 
knowledge. And there was Monseiur Poydras trading 
up and down the river, and now it is cotton and sugar- 
cane.” 

Besides the facts was wonderful legendary lore such 
as is handed down from father to son, or from some old 
gra’mere to youthful generations. Charms such as girls 
use, and tragic tales growing out of them. 

Sylvie would sit beside him and listen, a fascinated 
auditor. Her slim hand would rest on his knee, some- 
times to be clasped by his, which was still soft. It was 
delightful to have a new listener. 

“But were they really charms?” the child queried. 
“Could they wish for things and have them come to pass ? 
And did they hear their lovers’ names truly called on 
St. John’s night ?” 

“They thought so. There was an old slave woman 


220 


POINTE COUPEE. 


that was devoted to my papa who had a curious amulet. 
She herself had come from Africa. She had only to 
rub it and wish for some one and he was sure to come. 
She had a lover, and one night she wanted to go to a 
dance; so she wished for him. But the drawback was 
that the person you wished for must never be across 
water. The poor lover was, and in trying to cross the 
river he was drowned.” 

“Oh, how could she have forgotten !” 

“She might not have known where he was,” said 
Angelique. 

“But the amulet, what did she do with that?” ques- 
tioned Sylvie, eagerly. 

Monsieur Fleurien smiled a little. 

“I wanted her to give it to me, but one day she went 
out and dropped it in the river. And shortly afterward 
she died.” 

“And there is the story of the ring that makes one 
invisible, and ever so many legends.” 

“I wish I had it,” said Sylvie, eagerly. “I would wish 
at once for Gervaise. It is getting to be very lonesome 
without him.” 

“But he might be across water.” 

“Oh, dear! Why, you couldn’t always be certain.” 

“There are so many superstitions among the slaves,” 
said Claire. “And some really horrible Voudoux things. 
Then there are the children born with a caul or a thin 
membrane over the head and face. The child can see 
into futurity and tell fortunes.” 

“And a sea captain will sometimes pay a big price for 
the caul,” exclaimed M. Fleurien, “as he thinks no bad 
luck will happen to him while it is on board. So the 
superstitions are not all confined to the blacks.” 

“And all the foolish signs the girls have in the convent,” 


221 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


laughed Claire. “But I wore a yellow garter and found 
a lover,” she added, triumphantly. “And we used to cut 
our nails on Monday morning before breakfast to get a 
present.” 

“And did you get the present?” asked Sylvie, all 
interest. 

“Well, we often forgot to do it, eager as we were for 
the present. Yes, we surely did sometimes.” 

“And the old women in the city who sell love powders 
and charms !” 

“All nations have much the same superstitions,” said 
the host with his good night. “Little one, do not spend 
any time dreaming, but sleep sweetly.” 

There was the great red brick structure with its 
furnaces and chimneys, its long sheds where rows of 
hogsheads were like bristling fortifications. The new 
methods with the sacharometer and polariscope and 
other modern ideas had not come in yet. M. de 
Bore’s methods led on to fortune in those days and 
were satisfactory. And the crowds of half-clad negroes 
looking weird enough in the atmosphere of steam, dip- 
ping from kettle to kettle until the overseer discerns the 
sparkling grains, and then the shout of triumph. Every 
day apparently the same anxiety, the same rejoicing. 

Then came the message that Monsieur Poydras would 
be pleased to receive them. Eugene heroically insisted 
that his father should attend the ladies, as one of them 
must remain on the plantation for authority. 

The slaves rowed them down, keeping time with 
musical notes that had no real words to them, only 
sounds. And there was their host to receive them. 
At this period he was about sixty, tall and still finely 
formed, like a man in the prime of life, and attired in the 
quaint French costume he never changed. A pleasing 


222 


POINTE COUPEE. 


face, rather grave, but a most kindly, cheerful voice, and 
he gave the visitors a cordial greeting, for every one was 
welcome when he was at home. 

In this simple, unostentatious house and fashion lived 
one of the wealthiest men of his time, leading a most 
kindly and beneficent life, beloved by all who had ever 
dealt with him, and adored by his slaves. Wife and 
children were not among his earthly possessions; yet in 
his earlier days, when he had gone from plantation to 
plantation with his wares, children had run to greet him, 
and mothers had been delighted to receive him as a 
welcome guest. And now society paid him all the honor 
he would accept, and although he did not mingle largely 
in it, he was no recluse. Indeed, later on, when he had 
reached the age of seventy, he was elected a delegate to 
Congress from the Territory of Orleans, and took the 
long journey on horseback with a favorite servant. 

He also had a love for the accomplishments of the time. 
He was a fine performer on the old-fashioned lyre, and 
sang his own songs, often the heroic deeds of the early 
explorers, and found time to write poetry. If it was a 
little pompous and stilted, that was the tenor of the time, 
in which heroes were likened to those of mythology. 

He remembered at once that he had seen Mam’selle 
Saucier and the little one at one of the entertainments of 
the exiled Princes and greeted them with pleasure. 

“1 remarked your perfect accent,” he said. “We get 
our language so mixed up that it is a delight to hear one’s 
native tongue in its early elegance. For one can never 
quite resign the country of his childhood. It is still my 
dream to visit it again, though I have much affection for 
the land of my adoption, yet I hope to see it some day. 
Little one, why dost thou look incredulous ?” 

“Are you not afraid of the big ocean ?” 

223 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


He smiled. “Why our river has nearly as much terror 
in its bosom. It is sleepy enough in these tranquil times, 
but in its stormy fury quite a giant. Hardly a year but 
some place is swept away. More than once the city has 
been inundated. Some day, perhaps, there will be suf- 
ficient wisdom to protect us and to manage it. Ah, how 
magnificent it must have looked to those early travellers 
with its great reaches of unbroken forests, its myriads 
of birds, its beautiful creatures that were wild yet not 
afraid, the glow and brilliance of its sunrise and sunset. 
From St. Louis down to the Gulf, and then across the 
Gulf — it is all a marvellous country! Yet one dreams 
occasionally of the other far side — but one would not 
wish to see the storm and terror that have fallen upon it.” 

The grave eyes had so much soul in them that 
Angelique felt he was a poet, though her intellectual 
knowledge was extremely limited. 

“I am so glad we came away,” said Sylvie proudly. 
“And I do not mean ever to go back. I do not know but 
two or three people in all France, and they may be dead; 
but there are so many delightful folks here, and it is so 
amusing to go down in the town and see all the strange 
sights and the little black children tumbling about ready 
to make any funny antics for you if you only smile on 
them. And every flower-covered house, almost it seems 
like a great garden.” 

“Ah, what a happy light youth lends ! Child, keep 
these eyes that can see so much joy as long as you can.” 

“I shall keep them always.” She raised them in their 
azure softness. “I want to be merry and glad all the days 
of my life.” 

“I think thou wilt be.” 

She was like a bird darting hither and thither. Claire 
was vivacious as well, and was quite at home in the old 

224 


POINTE COUPEE. 


house. Angelique was delighted to visit the sort of study 
where the master spent his hours of recreation. Here 
indeed was quite a library picked up at various times and 
places, and the young girl remarked some old friends 
among them. 

“You see I was so much with my cousin the last year 
in France,” she said, half in apology for knowing them. 
“And he was fresh from school. There were no girls, 
and the Marquise was ill most of the time. And now we 
have been learning Spanish and a little English, and I 
have time to read and think.” 

“But forget not a woman’s true sphere,” he suggested 
gently. “That is the best and happiest destiny.” 

The dinner was at the old-time noon hour. The host 
insisted that Madame Fleurien should grace the head of 
the table, which she did charmingly. Were there not 
some of his own that he could draw around his board 
and make a family circle, he wondered ? For in the years 
to come when the cares of business would be less exact- 
ing, would it not be a pleasure to have some dear faces 
about him ? 

The cotton gin was quite a new thing in those days, 
and they must see that. Here was the other great sugar- 
making house, with its busy, happy laborers who had a 
cheerful smile for their master as he passed them. And 
until the day of his death, which was to be»«of ripe old age, 
they were devoted to him — a devotion he meant nobly to 
repay, but his last wishes were disregarded by the State 
he had served so well. 

Sylvie was charmed with Pointe Coupee and Papa 
Fleurien, and he was loath to let her go. 

“And now we must go to the last cutting,” he declared 
one day. “You must not miss that.” 

It was quite a grand ceremony. When they came to 
225 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


the last row the tallest cane was chosen and left uncut, 
while the green forest fell all about it. After it was 
carried in, the gang came out to the place with the over- 
seer and commandeur , one of the head negroes, who tied 
a blue ribbon to the cane, sang to it and danced around 
it as an Indian might have done, and suddenly cut it down 
with a shout. The work was ended. Mounting a cart, 
it was borne aloft in triumph amid singing and shout- 
ing, the women waving bright handkerchiefs, and carried 
to the great house, where the master accepted it with a 
speech. Then they were treated and the day ended with 
a dance in one of the cleared spaces where pine torches 
could be lighted with no danger of firing anything. 

“Why, it is like a picture !” cried Sylvie, enthusias- 
tically. “If only Monsieur Poydras could paint it!” 

“Or put it in verse,” said Papa Fleurien. 

“It is quite delightful to have a friend so near one's 
age,” said Claire. “I shall miss thee sorely. Zenobie is 
so full of girl’s whims and pranks and does not enjoy 
our quiet. Still, Angelique,” caressing her tenderly, 
“thou art too sweet to comb St. Catharine’s hair. Some 
husband must have the gift of thy devotion.” 

Angelique blushed. What was it that held her back 
from dreams of marriage and home? 

Barbe and Jaques gave them a most fervent welcome. 
Viny went wild with delight. 

“It has been like a convent for stillness, Missy,” she 
cried. “And Telano has nearly died of grief.” 

“Oh, my poor fellow!” But Hylas would have the 
first attention and looked unutterable confessions with his 
eager eyes. Telano put his head in his mistress’s hand 
and gave a pathetic cry. 

“Oh, Telano, I’ve had such a splendid time, but it was 
dreadful to leave you so long. Hylas had the boys, but, 
226 


A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 


my poor bird, you had no one, though I know Viny was 
good to you. And now I shall not go in ever so long 
again, and we will have good times together. Oh, you 
must not grieve so, now that you have me back again. 
We will sit by the lake and you shall hear about the 
sugar-making. And the deers are lovely and tame, and 
such beautiful peacocks ! But you are my heart’s delight, 
you know so much, Telano.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 

Christmas was a church day, rather solemn in the 
morning, toned down by Advent, which was quite devoutly 
kept. But New Year’s was the great festival. Before 
it was fairly light the slaves were swarming out of their 
cabins to the great house, to awaken the master and 
mistress, and the first one to greet them was envied all 
the year. Then began gift-giving. New suits of clothes, 
gay kerchiefs for the women, and the mother of a new 
baby always had something extra. On the plantations 
they always formed for a dance, interspersed with songs. 
In the city the dance had been forbidden, but there was 
often a beautiful song or two, accompanied by the plain- 
tive sound of the rude home-manufactured violin. 

The rest of the day was given over to jollity. True, 
many of the slaves paid for two much vehemence in the 
calaboose. But it was their one grand holiday. Servants 
were hired out, slaves took to themselves wives, and for 
a week there was more or less commotion. Indeed, the 
227 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


lower class of whites and the half-breeds were more dis- 
orderly than the negroes. Drinking brawls, gaming, and 
disreputable balls raged like a carnival. Then everybody 
settled to the old routine. 

There was a rather sharp winter after that, and the 
older people recalled their stories of snow and the big 
freeze when the fruit was blighted. And once the river 
was frozen over. 

“How curious it must have seemed !” commented 
Sylvie. “I should like to see snow.” 

Fires in the wide chimneys felt good. The child sat 
in the glow with Hylas by her side and dreamed all 
manner of strange things as one does on the dividing line 
when one longs for something new and yet is almost 
afraid of that unknown land called the future. 

When Gervaise came home! He was having a won- 
derful time journeying about. None of it could be told 
in a letter. It would take all one’s time. But there 
seemed a great deal of space devoted to Monsieur Norton, 
and mysterious allusions to some great future happening. 
The Union of the colonies was so much grander than 
one could imagine. In the new capital, which was for 
the whole country, a splendid body of men came to 
represent every State and present its needs. He had seen 
the President, Monsieur Adams, but the grand general 
who had led the armies to victory and snatched his 
country from foreign domination, giving it the larger 
liberty, and again served it as President, had died in his 
beautiful country home, whither he had retired to spend 
his old age. The whole country had mourned him. 

Once they had quite given up the search for Cousin 
Hugh, as the fact of his death seemed to be established. 
And then M. Norton had found another clue. They 
were to come back by an overland journey whic^i would 
228 


A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 


bring them to the place indicated, but if they did succeed 
it would be owing to M. Norton’s perseverance and 
knowledge of the country. 

“Do you hear that?” Sylvie said to Hylas. “Your dear 
master may find our Cousin Hugh, and we shall all be 
so glad.” 

Public events to change the destiny of the whole 
Province of Louisiana had been marching on rapidly. 
Governor Gayoso had died in the midst of an intrigue 
with Wilkinson and his party. The Marquis Caso Calvo 
proving weak had been succeeded by Don Manuel de 
Salcedo. But the intendant Morales held the real power 
and hampered American commerce, as well as discourag- 
ing emigration. The M oniteur de Louisiane was the only 
paper, and being published in French, and having French 
interests at heart, was not likely to disseminate much 
American news. True, there had been an undercurrent 
of feeling that the province had been transferred back to 
France, and yet there was terror as well as exultation 
in it. For had not the redoubtable First Consul, who was 
fast making himself the arbiter of Europe, said to the St. 
Domingans, “Whatever be your color or your origin, you 
are free” ? What if this should be his fiat to them ! 

They heard little about the political aspect of matters 
in the quiet home on the St. John Road. Father Antoine 
no longer worked the small plantation, and Jaques had 
two hired slaves. Zenobie and Hortense had so far out- 
stripped Sylvie that they were young ladies going to balls, 
and having whispered confidences about a “parti.” 
Zenobie held her head high and coquetted even under the 
careful eyes of her mother; Claire was wildly happy in 
the possession of twin boys; and gra’mere still lived, 
thanks to the devotion of Olympie. Mrs. Murch and 
her two boys had followed her husband to Kentucky, 
229 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


where he had succeeded in obtaining a farm and building 
a log cabin. 

“I don’t know what I should do without you, Hylas,” 
Sylvie said a dozen times a day, in a most melancholy 
tone. “I don’t believe any one will ever come back to us ! 
And Angel does nothing but pore over those stupid books, 
while Hortense, with all her protestations, has ceased to 
care for me, and Laure is really going to be a nun !” 

In the midst of these lamentations the young traveller 
returned. 

Was this indeed Gervaise? He was taller and more 
manly, and so changed that Barbe declared she would 
never have known him. Angelique was proud of him. 
Sylvie, half afraid, was stunned by the complete alteration 
in him. She could not run to him and hang on his arm, 
or order him about with her pretty imperiousness. She 
did not understand how much of the change was in 
herself. 

Oh, one could never have written half the wonderful 
things he had to relate! Angelique asked herself seri- 
ously if it could be true. Sylvie listened enraptured. 
There were a few old French stories of the simpler sort 
that girls were allowed to read, but this surpassed them 
all. No Arabian Nights was ever so marvellous as these 
cities of the East, where little girls went to school quite 
alone by themselves and had no end of pretty plays. 

Two days after Gervaise’s return there was a great 
commotion in old New Orleans. The cession that had 
been suspected and denied, and kept a secret from those 
most interested, was suddenly announced. The First 
Consul had exchanged the petty Italian kingdom of 
Etruria for this magnificent province. On the 26th of 
March, 1803, M. Laussat, the French Colonial Prefect, 
landed, commissioned to prepare for the advent of General 


230 


A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 


Victor with a large body of troops to institute the new 
form of government. 

There was much indignation and wonderment that this 
cession had been kept a secret so long, and certainly the 
Louisianians had been cheapened by the bargain. Laus- 
sat, to allay their fears about the slaves, proclaimed the 
good-will and friendship of Napoleon, and that it was his 
intention to preserve the colony in all its rights and 
privileges, amending only such abuses as might have 
crept in. 

Yet it was not easy to satisfy the inhabitants at first. 
They could not understand all the diplomacy back of it. 
For Napoleon at war with England saw this was a 
vulnerable point to strike. Their ships of war were 
already in the Gulf of Mexico. And he understood the 
desire of the United States to possess it. There had been 
more than one conference in the garden of St. Cloud 
with Marbois and Talleyrand. President Adams was 
ready to descend upon it. There was the other counter- 
plotting. And he needed money to prosecute his war. 

“Let them give you one hundred million francs, pay 
their own claims, and take the country,” he said to 
M. Marbois, who had the negotiations in hand, with 
Messrs. Livingston and Monroe. 

And while the dickering was going on, New Orleans 
was coming to believe herself really French once more, 
and beginning to rejoice in the fact of their reunion to 
France, which they had always desired. The enthusiasm 
grew. The French language was used without stint and 
openly taught. Many restrictions were honored in the 
breach. 

Gervaise Aubreton wondered if he really was a French- 
man ! He had seen no more beautiful country than this, 
yet his soul had been fired with the larger liberty of the 
231 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Republic. The narrowness and illiberal policy that had' 
so retarded the growth of the city struck him as never 
before ; indeed, he had not considered it at all in that old 
boyish time. 

Old friends welcomed him. Henri de Longpre, grown 
the same as himself, but now an active business person, 
contemplating marriage and casting his eyes toward 
Zenobie Lavalette, was enthusiastic over his return. 
Madame Henriade, looking not a day older, still had her 
pretty apartments thronged with visitors and gave him a 
delightful welcome. 

“Truly you have come to full manhood, mon ami ” 
she said with her charming smile. “You are quite in 
condition to captivate our poor girls, and they must be 
warned as to your attractions. And you have seen so 
much of the world, learned that some of the finest plans 
go astray.” 

He studied her a moment, compelling his eyes to 
betray more curiosity than knowledge. 

“Yes — they did not succeed ” 

“General Villaineuve was deeply disappointed. It 
would have been a magnificent empire.” 

“But to whom would it have belonged? It was never 
really meant for Spain.” 

“Ah bah ! Spain ! And though there is no royal blood 
in this Napoleon, if he gives us a good government we 
will not quarrel with him. But a truce to these things 
women have no right to meddle with. Mon ami , what 
do you mean to do with your pretty cousin? She will 
have no lovers. Was there some one left behind in 
France?” 

“Angelique, do you mean? Oh, no. No one ever 

came to the chateau ” then he flushed a little, why 

232 


A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 

he could not exactly tell, though he had more than half 
suspected Norton’s secret. 

“Youth goes so fast — a girl’s sweet youth that it is a 
pity not to make the best of it. And you Protestants 
have no convents where one may make single life a 
virtue. ,, 

Gervaise found Angelique curiously interesting. She 
was more like the women he had met in the Eastern 
cities, where education was making progress. True, they 
had studied not a little together and her mind was not 
full of childish frivolities, nor her eyes of the demureness 
that was half coquetry, yet indescribably attractive. And 
she was eager to hear about his journeys and the people 
he had met. 

But poor Sylvie felt herself crowded out of all this. 
She was not old enough to appreciate any of the larger 
views of life, and she was growing out of childishness. 
Indeed, a little girl’s life outside of the convent or the 
schools was rather dull at this period. As Barbe com- 
plained, there were slaves to do almost everything, even to 
fine sewing, and, alas! Sylvie did not like to sew. She 
soiled her lace-work and had stitches too tight or too 
loose. Barbe had tried her at darning stockings, but 
Viny did it so much neater and often begged off for the 
child, or mended them when they were hardly dry from 
the wash. 

So she roamed in the old garden filling it with her 
plaints. She stood under the great tall stalks of lilies, 
snowy-white, purple-clouded, and scarlet, and reaching up 
to them kissed the white ones, for the others gave her a 
strange fear, as if they might be transformed into some- 
thing she should shrink from. She buried her face in 
the roses and showered the leaves all over her ; she patted 
233 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and caressed the magnolias with her soft, slender fingers. 
Or she hid under the dark tall pines, whose thick boughs 
seemed instinct with some mysterious whispering. She 
might have been a later /Enone in the vale of Ida, for 
surely this beautiful spot was perfect enough, fragrant 
enough, and full of all enchanting voices that impressed 
her and yet she was unable to translate. For she was 
no Greek girl dwelling among naiads and dryads by 
melodious fountains, where the gods could come and hold 
converse with her. For if they did, they were birds 
calling mysteriously, warbling their sweetest notes to 
each other, making a dazzle in the sunshine or a flutter 
among the leaves and vanishing. The swans talked to 
their young, the ducks chattered and clattered in friendly 
rivalry. 

“And no one cares about me any more. They do not 
love me. Gervaise does not, for all I am to be his little 
wife so soon, when I am twelve. But he loves Angelique, 
I know. It is just like the birds. If she goes out on the 
gallery he follows. And when I come they stop talking, 
or they go somewhere else. And even Barbe is cross, 
and says, ‘Run away, Sylvie/ or ‘Run out in the garden/ 
Oh Telano, it is very hard not to have any one love 
you best of all, only one slave girl who doesn't belong 
to you !” 

Telano made a lugubrious sound and thrust his head 
under his young mistress's arm. Hylas stood before her, 
wide-eyed and upbraiding. 

“Oh, I know what you mean, Hylas, but it isn't so; 
you would fly in a moment if your master was here. 
Do you know that he is coming — M’sieu Norton — 
Roger Norton," in a slow, beguiling tone. 

Hylas gave a turn as if he could fly to the ends of the 
earth, and uttered two short exultant cries as if he said, 

234 


A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 


“When? when?’’ His ears were all aquiver, his nostrils 
dilated with very eagerness, and a tiny pulsation seemed 
to ripple all over his body. Oh, the intense earnestness of 
his eyes as he studied the fair face ! 

“Oh, yes, I knew it would be so ! And when you hear 
his voice you will go wild with delight. You will forget 
all about me. He will take you away, and you won’t 
mind, you will be so happy. And there will be only 
Telano. Then what if Telano should die!” 

The soft, fragrant wind was gay rather than mournful ; 
the leaves danced about, the birds fairly shouted out 
melody. Yes, it was very hard for a little girl who had 
no resources, for whom there were no fairy tales of en- 
chanting transformations, no charming history of grand 
and noble deeds, no novels such as fire a young girl’s life 
and make her long for days of usefulness, of ambition, of 
satisfaction ! 

Ah, no wonder Sylvie was lonely in the great beautiful 
garden, for a human soul is always longing for humanity. 
What a little of true childhood the world knew then, 
a hundred years ago ! 

Gervaise came in with a note and a shout. He whirled 
the letter round and round his head. “He has been 
found! He is alive! He is coming, they are coming 
as fast as they can !” 

“Oh, it can’t be true,” cried Barbe, clasping her hands. 
“He would have taken some pains all this time to find us. 
You would have heard ” 

“The old Indian woman who nursed him took him 
away. Some one said she had buried him in the forest. 
Then we heard of him at one of the forts — just the same 
name — Hugh de Brienne. But we went to Pittsburg and 
then on east; and all trace was lost. Yet once or twice, 
even, we found we had been on the wrong trail. And 
how would he hear about us ?” 


235 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


For while Barbe considered him dead — as in her 
secret heart this fear was uppermost — she forgave him 
many things that looked like neglect. She knew nothing 
of a man’s life of adventure. Yet suddenly a hard feel- 
ing toward him sprang up as if she could call him to 
account severely. 

“Norton does not go into particulars. There are 
always so many things to do, and so few — what shall I 
call them ? — conveniences in that rough life. But Heaven 
only knows how glad I shall be. For, Barbe, since I 
have been back it has been desperately trying with the 
little one. And how we are ever to get out of the tangle 
— if Hugh were really dead, I suppose ” 

“Hush,” commanded Barbe, and, following the direc- 
tion of her eyes, Gervaise saw Sylvie with her two com- 
panions. 

“How vexatious !” he exclaimed, irritably. 

“I wish some one would take a nice long walk with 
me,” said the child. “I’m tired of the garden. It is so 
lonely and sorrowful.” 

“Let Viny take you down in the town ” 

“I don’t want to go in the town,” pettishly. 

“To-morrow we will go somewhere, anywhere you lixe. 
We will sail down on the lake.” 

“And now go up to Angelique and say a lesson or read. 
I want to talk to Gervaise.” 

Oh, that was the old story! No one wanted to talk 
to her. Her heart swelled with indignation. She went 
slowly with tears in her eyes. 

Barbe took the young man’s arm and led him out in 
the court. 

“It is such a queer thing, such a wild thing it seems 
now. I can’t understand. Did he really desire it, do 
you think? He was so much older. To be sure, there 
236 


A LONELY LITTLE GIRL. 


was all the fortune, but no one knows about it now. And 
if he should insist ” 

“I hoped she would get over her fondness for me,” 
Gervaise said, with a sigh. “She is like a darling little 
sister, that is all. And the bond with Hugh is legal, I 
suppose, though no one kept the copy with the signatures. 
It may still be in the old chateau. Yes, as you say, it is a 
desperate tangle, and he can best unravel it. But if he 
should repudiate it ?” 

She turned her anxious eyes to his face, that was not 
any nearer satisfaction than her own. 

“Oh, we can do nothing but wait. It will not be very «. 
long, thank Heaven ! Why, Hugh coming back to us is 
like a miracle. But I suppose he is changed in every 
respect. I can recall my boyish adoration of him, and 
when he came to America I was crazy to come also. I 
chafed like a tiger when I was sent back to that dull little 
school. And now I keep saying, ‘Shall we like him or 
not?’ All adventurers are not noble or grand or lovable. 

I have learned that, Barbe.” 

“I know so little of him !” 

“But I was a boy under his wing, as one may say. 
He taught me to ride without fear, and to shoot. And 
he was always so brave and proud and abhorred lies. He 
thrashed me once because I was afraid to own up a truth, 
and then he caressed me afterward and was so affec- 
tionate. I should hate to have him changed.” 

“Angelique should know. She has much wisdom in 
her girl’s head, Gervaise, and when the pinch comes she 
may see a clearer path than any of us.” 

“Yes.” He started up the stone stairway. Then he 
bethought himself that they had sent Sylvie to Angelique, 
and slowly retraced his steps, turning into the garden. 
Hylas lay on the stone flag. 

237 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Hylas, old fellow, your master is coming home. Oh, 
how wild you will be, you faithful creature. And he 
would not take a duke’s ransom for you !” 

Hylas sprang up and bounded about with short, quick 
cries, as if he could hardly contain himself for joy. 

“He really does understand!” Gervaise patted and 
stroked him. “Poor Sylvie will be jealous again. If she 
could understand, but she is too young.” 

In the midst of her English which she was rendering 
with many disheartening blunders, she heard the voice 
and the dog’s joy, and her heart bled afresh. 

“You are very careless, Sylvie. Now as a punishment 
you are to stay here and study half an hour. I shall go 
down in the garden.” 

Sylvie felt spiritless, heart-broken, and the big tears 
dropped slowly on her page. 

Angelique Saucier wondered within herself how she 
could take the tidings so calmly. She remembered the day 
he had ridden away from the old chateau, bright, joyous, 
full of splendid hopes and enthusiasms. He had pressed 
a kiss upon her forehead and said, “Give me a place in 
thy prayers, sweet cousin, and let no one crowd me out.” 
The words still sounded in her brain as he had uttered 
them then. But he had desired this marriage for the sake 
of the rich Du Chatilly heritage, and it had struck a hard 
blow to her young soul. What made her so cold and 
indifferent now ? 

“Poor little Sylvie,” Gervaise said, pityingly. “Of 
course Hugh will have to decide what will be done. It 
was an unfortunate affair. But she is so young. And 
Angelique, think how queer some marriages are. 
I should want an unmistakable preference of my 
own, should you not? Oh, there was that young 
Spaniard ” 












238 


HUGH DE BRIENNE. 


She flushed and laughed. “Yet many of the marriages 
are happy. There is Claire Lavalette’s.” 

“Oh, we must go up the river and see them all.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HUGH DE BRIENNE. 

Laure Gorgas was walking up and down the shaded 
court with a baby in her arms. Its mother was dead, its 
father had taken a sea-trip, being a sailor, and the little 
one was left to the kindly care of the nuns, but a paid 
boarder at that. She was giving it the air, as it had not 
been very well. The soft baby face was pressed in the 
nest between chin and shoulder, and occasionally she 
kissed the tiny cheek or pressed the small fingers to her 
lips. Ah, Blessed Virgin, how sweet it was ! And the 
poor mother lay in the grave! That made Laure shud- 
der. She hated dying and graves and going-out of life. 
Monotonous as this life was, it was much better and 
pleasanter than to be out of it and in purgatory for one’s 
sins. Were they all sins, these disquieting thoughts? 
Mother Annette never had them, she did her whole duty, 
that was all. Sister Lisa said no one had any business 
with such thoughts, it showed a depraved soul. Father 
Moras said she must keep busy, and the Evil One would 
not find so many places to plant his ungodly seed. Busy 
— why, she was busy all the time. She never took walks 
for pleasure any more. But she was glad to be the baby’s 
nurse — it preferred her to all the rest, perhaps it loved 
her. She too had such a wicked human longing to be 
loved. 


239 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Father Moras was out visiting the sick when a strange 
priest called. He had been there a full hour examining 
the convent and the chapel, and the Father had not yet 
come in. Mother Anastasia was ill in bed with a raging 
headache, and Sister Catharine had been taking him 
through. There was only a hedge of clipped spruce 
between the walks. 

“Then you do not know ” he paused. 

“There have been so many emigres , Father Gilbert. 
And they would be likely to go to some of the heretical 
settlements. ,, 

“It was told me they were in the city. There was this 
young girl, Mademoiselle Saucier, but she may be mar- 
ried before this. Husbands seem easy to get in this new 
land. It is the child Sylvie Perrier who is needed. She 
and all she has were bequeathed to the Church. It is 
hunting a lost sheep.” 

“I will make inquiries, Father. Our good priest will 
be likely to know. Come in again.” 

He gave her his blessing. 

Why, that was little Sylvie ! And she, Laure, had been 
praying for her conversion. Bequeathed to the Church ! 
Then she had no right to be a Huguenot, or any other 
“not” that disbelieved. Laure quickened her pace and 
came out at the end of the walk just as the priest reached 
his. He raised his hand in blessing. 

“Pardon me, Father, but I accidentally caught some- 
thing you said to Sister Catharine. You are looking for 
Sylvie Perrier?” 

“Ah, yes. Do you know her?” 

“Yes,” answered the girl, rather hesitatingly. “And 
you said — she had been bequeathed to the Church?” 

“That is true. It is my business to find her.” 

There was a little exultation in Laure’s mind that she 


240 


HUGH DE BRIENNE. 


had a knowledge above Sister Catharine’s, and that she 
could guide even a priest of the Church. 

“We go around gathering up our stray lambs,” he said, 
in a soft voice. “And whoever helps does a worthy deed. 
My child, where shall I find her?” 

“I have prayed night and morning for her conversion 
to the true faith.” Laure wanted credit for her good 
works. 

“Thou art a little missionary then. Thou wilt make a 
devoted Sister. Take my blessing. And now — where 
shall I find these people. There is a Monsieur Aubreton, 
and — I have the names in a list; it escapes me at this 
moment.” 

“It is on the St. John Road. There are not many 
houses. This has a magnolia avenue, and two giant pines 
at the gateway.” 

“Thanks, thanks, my daughter,” and the hands were 
folded over her head. 

It was full time to go back with the baby. Soeur 
Catharine scolded because it had been kept out in the 
evening air, and said it must be fed and put to bed at 
once. 

So Sylvie Perrier, with all her saucy pride and inde- 
pendence and her tendency to scoff at the Church, really 
belonged to it. She would be made to conform. And 
what if she had to be a nun ! It would be good for some 
of these pleasure-loving girls who were always talking of 
balls and lovers when two or three of them had their heads 
together. The poor girls with no homes and no families, 
no dowries, yes, that was the proper place for them. 
But some of the more favored ones ought to be made to 
take up the cross. Why should only the gay, bright side 
be reserved for them ? 

Father Gilbert inquired again the next morning. 


241 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Yes, the convent girl had been correct. Monsieur and 
Madame Champe ! He smiled rather sardonically. What 
airs people put on in this new country ! Gervaise Aubre- 
ton — Angelique Saucier, Sylvie Perrier. And now it was 
a good thing this foolish marriage had taken place, 
though at first Pere Mambert had protested against it. 
How astute he had been in the marriage agreement ! 

Marti answered the clang at the gate. Gervaise had 
put up a larger bell when he went away, so they could 
even hear it in the garden to summon Jaques. A priest 
in his long cassock stood there, and Marti bowed her 
head and crossed herself. 

“I wish to see Madame Champe,” he said, briefly. 
“And Mademoiselle Saucier.” 

The court down here was comfortable enough to 
receive any casual guest. Some of the rustic seats had 
cushions on them. How ease-loving these heretics were ! 

Madame Champe looked askance at the new-comer, 
who bowed formally. Angelique had followed her, and 
cried, “Oh, are you from Pointe Coupee. Is there — 
news?” She could not bring herself to say “bad news.” 

“I am not from Pointe Coupee, but from France — 
Paris.” 

The two women glanced at each other. What word 
was this ? A sudden terror smote both. 

“In the latter part of the year seventeen ninety-five, 
there was a marriage solemnized at the Chateau de 
Brienne at the command of the Marquise, who was dy- 
ing,” he said, in an assured tone. 

Barbe made a half inclination of the head, hardly 
knowing whether to admit or not. 

“Father Mambert of St. Eudor’s officiated. The con- 
vent was near-by. The contracting parties were Sylvie 
Perrier, an orphan child, and Hugh de Brienne, the 
242 


HUGH DE BRIENNE. 


proxy being his cousin, Gervaise Aubreton,” and he 
looked up confidently. 

That was all true enough. She made no comment, but 
a shade of paleness passed over her countenance, for she 
apprehended trouble. 

“I suppose the marriage contract was read by you all, 
since you all signed it ?” 

The tone had a suavity that was irritating. 

“No. I am not sure the Marquise heard it even. 
And the strange thing about it was its disappearance. 
We never saw it after the signing,” said Madame, de- 
cisively. 

“It was given into the Father’s care. The child-wife 
was to be under his protection, was indeed to reside at 
the convent until such time as her husband returned.” 

“I cannot believe that! Madame was not a Catholic,” 
cried Barbe, indignantly. 

“Allow me to refresh your memory.” He drew from 
an inside pocket a roll of parchment tied up in a shabby 
velvet case, and began to unroll it. “A circumstance that 
might reasonably have been feared, has occurred, and as 
a wise precaution this was taken into account and pro- 
vided for; therefore the law and the desires of the Mar- 
quise must go into effect. Let me read to you.” 

He adjusted his glasses and shook out the parchment, 
eying both women from under long drooping lids. 

“You cannot deny the marriage?” he said, defiantly. 

“I do not deny the marriage.” Barbe’s tone was cold 
and resentful and showed plainly that she would be glad 
to, if she could. 

Then he began to read. There was much stilted ver- 
biage, the fashion of that time which has come down to 
us. The relationships were duly traced on both sides. 
Sylvie, daughter of Armand Perrier of Liscourt, and 
243 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

Constance de Chatilly, heiress of Chatilly Court, of Petit 
Marais, of Saint Morne, wife of Armand Perrier, mother 
of Sylvie de Chatilly Perrier. Then followed the mar- 
riage contract, the delegation of all powers as guardian 
of the Marquise de Brienne to the Convent of St. Eudor ; 
that the said Sylvie be educated and cared for; and if 
Hugh de Brienne should die, the whole fortune and the 
ward should remain in the hands of the Fathers and the 
Mother Superior.” 

“I do not believe it!” burst out Barbe, indignantly. 
“The Marquise was not a Catholic, the Perriers were all 
Huguenots ! The Marquise never could have done such 
a wicked thing. It is false. We fled because we 
heard there was a plot ” 

“You can examine for yourself. And now that the 
province has gone back to France you will find the same 
laws govern both places. We therefore demand this 
Sylvie Perrier. She must return to France, and I am 
invested with all legal authority to convoy her thither. 
I warn you that fighting will be useless. For Hugh de 
Brienne, the only other person who could claim her, is 
dead.” 

“He is not dead!” cried Angelique, vehemently. “We 
have heard — he is on his way to New Orleans.” 

The priest gave a wave of his hand that was at once 
superior and indicated a rather ironical pity. 

“He is dead,” he returned. “He was wounded in an 
Indian skirmish at Lapeer on the Flint River, and taken 
prisoner, but left behind to die. An Indian woman 
nursed him — I had established a mission not far from 
there. I visited him twice. I administered the last rites 
of the Church ; and he was hardly conscious at the end. 
He could not have lived an hour. A week afterward the 
wigwam was burned. It was his funeral pyre.” 

244 


HUGH DE BRIENNE. 


Barbe turned to Angelique in desperation. Which 
story was true? One or the other must be mistaken. 
A dying man, wounded at that, could not recover in so 
short a time and leave the place, and with no trace, dis- 
appear mysteriously. 

Angelique recovered herself first. “Monsieur,” she 
began, with dignity, “we know nothing about you. You 
may be an impostor in a priest’s garb. You must have 
some one to corroborate your story, to prove that you 
have a right to act in this matter. Sylvie Perrier has 
friends who will fight for her to the last.” 

“Mademoiselle, will not this go a long way in any 
court?” and he tapped the parchment that he had care- 
fully rolled up again. “Sylvie Perrier and her estates 
belong to the Convent of St. Eudor. Even the Spanish 
law would admit that. I warn you it will be a sharp 
fight and you will be worsted.” 

Barbe was about to speak, but Angelique made a sign. 

“Still we shall not turn her over to you until the courts 
so decide. And we must have better proof that Hugh de 
Brienne is dead.” 

The priest looked at her steadily, but she never 
blanched, though every nerve was in a quiver. 

“As to that, the proof will be forthcoming. I am well 
known at the mission — I served seven years and only 
returned a year ago. Because I knew these particulars 
I was selected for this important matter.” 

“I think, too, Monsieur Aubreton, the cousin and next 
in the succession, may have something to say. He is of 

ff 

age. 

“He can hardly marry his cousin’s widow,” returned 
the priest with a sneer. 

“We are all Huguenots, Monsieur ; besides, the relation- 
ship between them is not so near as cousins. I doubt if 
245 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


the Marquise knew what she was signing. I for one did 
not. It should have been read to us.” 

The priest shrugged his shoulders and deepened the 
lines on either side of his mouth by a peculiar compression 
of the lips. 

“May I see this young person ?” 

“Not to-day, Monsieur,” Angelique answered, de- 
cisively. 

“To-morrow, at ten then. And I will bring not only 
witnesses for myself, but an alcalde and a notary. 
Meanwhile — it will not do to try another escape.” 

“We are among friends now, Sir Priest,” the girl said, 
haughtily. “And we can appeal to the law.” 

He bowed and turned to the doorway. When he had 
gone through, the bar gave its dull snap. 

“Oh, what are we to do?” cried Barbe. 

“There must be some redress for us. Sylvie cannot 
be snatched away in this fashion. And immured in a 
convent ! Oh, Barbe, let us pray that the word from the 
American is trustworthy.” 

“My dear little darling! And her mother said, ‘Never, 
never leave her, Barbe, even when she is a woman grown/ 
It is the fortune they want. Let them take that. Oh, let 
us give up everything. And would it not be wise to send 
the child away to hide her ” 

“No, I would not let her out of my sight,” returned 
Angelique. “And it does seem as if Gervaise had 
some right to protect her. Oh, Barbe, let us not get so 
desperately frightened. When Gervaise comes he may 
think of something. And I know M. Lavalette will be- 
friend us.” 

They watched for Gervaise. Sylvie ran out and in with 
Hylas beside her. At every stir he pricked up his ears 
and listened. 


246 


HUGH DE BRIENNE. 


“Keep the gates well locked, Jaques,” said Barbe. 
“And come in and listen to what I have to say.” 

Jaques was surprised at first. 

“It is part of the old scheme,” he said, presently. 
“And I suppose it is possible to get the possession of 
the estates still, or they would not take all this trouble. 
So much property has been confiscated or destroyed. 
But I know the Marquise never meant to consign her to 
such hands. And, you see, the Sieur Hugh receiving their 
rites, dying in the Church as one may say, makes their 
case stronger.” 

“You think, then, he is dead in spite of the word that 
came from the American?” 

“I am afraid,” shaking his head slowly. 

It was dusk when Gervaise returned, really dis- 
couraged with his waiting. Not a sight, not even a line, 
from the travellers. He had inspected every point of 
egress. And then to hear this news ! 

There was but little sleep that night. And all the 
morning Gervaise kept saying, “They never will dare! 
You see, there will have to be law-processes and every- 
thing. I doubt if they could take her back to France. 
Only just now’ matters are so unsettled. The province has 
been transferred to France beyond a doubt. The Moni - 
teur would not discourse so confidently on the subject if 
it was not true. General Victor is expected every day 
with his forces. There will be new laws of course.” 

“And those people are coming. There is an army of 
them. Oh, what shall we do?” cried Barbe, in affright. 

Gervaise looked dazed himself. 

“I suppose there is nothing but to let them present their 
case and listen, and perhaps fight our way out. Yes, 
there are the priests and two officers, and that M’sieu 
Peloubet who will argue on the side of the longest purse. 

247 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Yes, Marti, here in the court. Jaques, you are not to be 
out of hearing.” 

Pere Moras bowed courteously to the ladies. He 
wished to present his friend, Father Gilbert, who for 
years had been a most earnest and devoted priest at the 
North among the Indians. He had been sent from the 
Convent of St. Eudor on a most delicate mission, but it 
would also be necessary to invoke the law in his behalf. 
To-morrow at ten there would be a judicial hearing at 
court, at which they were to produce the child Sylvie 
Perrier, widow of the Sieur de Brienne ” 

“The Sieur de Brienne is not dead,” announced Ger- 
vaise, most decisively. 

“Ah, — you have proof? You will be called to produce 
it then. A mere impression will not do in the face of 
facts.” 

“Oh, Hylas! Hylas!” cried Sylvie as the dog with a 
swift bound swept through the court and made a frantic 
leap over the wall, a thing he had never attempted before. 
She stood still, abashed at the company on which she had 
unwittingly intruded. “Oh, Gervaise, will you see? — 
some one whistled ” she cried. 

There was a sound at the gate. Gervaise threw it 
wide open, and with French fervor flung his arms about 
Roger Norton’s neck. 

“Oh,” in a full, choking voice. “If you had brought 
me all the gold of Peru you could not be more welcome.” 

“I have not brought the gold, but the cousin as I 
promised. Oh, Hylas, down, down, sir ! you will smother 
me in your joy! We should have reached here last 
evening but for a series of mishaps^ Hylas, go and get 
your pretty young mistress.” 

Then Gervaise Aubreton turned to his cousin. 

“Pardon me,” he began, a little awkwardly. 

248 


HUGH DE BRIENNE. 


“It is Gervaise. Thank Heaven that I have found you 
all alive — all but my mother. You are no longer a 
boy ” 

“Come in here and prove yourself alive. No, stay a 
moment. Hugh, when you wished to marry Sylvie Per- 
rier ” 

“I — wished to marry — ah, I remember it was a plan of 
my mother’s. She once wrote about it, and I said I 
would have no objection a few years hence. I was too 
full of adventure just then — and Sylvie must have been 
a mere child. Why ” 

Gervaise was simply staring. “Then you did not know 
about it? Why, it is a worse tangle than ever. Hugh, 
just before the Marquise died — she insisted upon a cere- 
mony. I stood in your place. I can’t stop to explain all, 
but in some queer way, Sylvie and her possessions, which 
it seems are considerable, have gone into the hands of 
the Convent of St. Eudor. You were supposed to have 
died at a place in Michigan ” 

“But I am not dead,” he interrupted, “though I came 
near it, I admit. I do not understand — this marriage.” 

Norton was half listening and trying to defend himself 
from the caresses of the overjoyed Hylas. 

“Then come in and prove this Pere Gilbert mistaken. 
The rest can wait.” 

He seized him by the arm and pushed rather than led 
him to the court. “Messieurs,” in a tone of triumph, 
“allow me to present to you the Sieur de Brienne.” 

All eyes were turned to him. Barbe and Angelique sat 
together on a bench, Sylvie, half frightened, stood just 
as she had on her first entrance, not having the courage 
to follow Hylas, as she longed to do. 

Pere Gilbert arose and came nearer, studied him with 
severe scrutiny. 


249 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Ah, Pere Gilbert, I am here in the flesh! Perhaps 
your blessing had a beneficial effect, I know your care 
did. And that good Wenonah, no thanks could ever 
repay her.” 

“But — and the wigwam was burnt. The shrubs all 
about ” 

“Yes. Some of our party traced me and conveyed 
me back to camp with my good nurse. And there I re- 
covered of my illness and wounds. I sent to France and 
received word of my mother’s death; the rest of the 
family seemed to have disappeared. I could get no trace 
of them until a short time ago I met a most excellent 
friend, who knew where they had found refuge. So in 
his company I came hither.” 

Then Hugh de Brienne glanced about. Was this 
beautiful woman the little girl he had left at home? As 
for Madame Champe and her charge, he hardly knew 
them at all. And this lovely child ” 

Sylvie ran, startled, to Barbe and hid her golden head 
on the ample shoulder. 

“Word had come to France of your death,” began 
Pere Gilbert, stiffly. I was sent to undertake some busi- 
ness. Is it true, Monsieur de Brienne, that you by your 
own wish and desire espoused Sylvie Perrier?” 

De Brienne’s half-uttered denial was met by an im- 
ploring look from Gervaise. 

“That is true, gentlemen, strange as it may seem to 
you,” and he was bewildered by his own confession. 
“Sylvie Perrier is my wife.” 

“Then, Messieurs,” and the notary rose, vexed at 
having the matter that had promised some rich fees end 
this way — “then there is nothing further left for us 
to do. We cannot administer on a man’s estate when 
the man comes back to life to take charge of it himself.” 

250 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


“And this deed of gift or guardianship, or whatever 
you may call it, with its signatures of the marriage will 
be returned to us,” said Aubreton, in a decisive manner. 

“Claim it — to save Sylvie,” whispered Gervaise, as Pere 
Gilbert looked uncertain. 

“I demand the marriage contract, if that is what you 
call it, and any other evidence you may have,” Hugh de 
Brienne exclaimed, authoritatively. “I shall proceed to 
France to settle up any matters pertaining to the De 
Chatilly estate as well as my own.” 

The resolute face did not look as if it would stand 
much trifling. When it came to that Pere Gilbert was 
not sure that the parchment would be of the slightest 
account to any one else. Almost without personal voli- 
tion he handed it to De Brienne, and then he was angry 
with himself. 

The party rose to withdraw. “If there is any need of 
a hearing at the Court House, we will be there promptly,” 
exclaimed Gervaise, with a touch of triumph perceptible 
in his tone. 

“We will notify you if there is,” returned the notary, 
stiffly. Then they bowed, wondering a little as they 
went. Pere Gilbert could hardly believe his own eyes. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

sorrow's crown of sorrow. 

There was a curious silence for some moments. 
Hugh de Brienne felt as if he had been suddenly pro- 
jected into a new world of which he knew very little. 
He had been so glad to hear of these relatives, for he had 
251 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


often thought about them. Gervaise and Angelique had 
been most in his mind. But the stirring life he had led, 
the adventures he had met with, the broad development 
that had been his, the new, fascinating spirit that per- 
vaded everything, the strength and grandeur had almost 
crowded out the past. For that was what the New 
World seemed to him. 

Norton had wandered down the oleander walk, where 
Hylas might indulge in his overjoy without disturbing 
any one. Delicacy as well, for there were some family 
mysteries, that was evident. 

Hugh unrolled the parchment and began to read. A 
frown settled across his brow. What sort of madness 
must have seized upon his mother ! 

“Gervaise!” There was a sharpness in his tone that 
struck even himself. “I cannot understand,” he said. 
“Was it persecution that sent you here? I supposed it 
was the frightful disorder of the times. And how could 
this be allowed ?” 

“The Marquise insisted. She was very ill, you know. 
And we were all young then ” 

“Yes,” said Barbe. “But she thought she was follow- 
ing out your wishes and providing for the safety and 
future welfare of the child. I do not think she ever read 
all that contract. It was done so hurriedly. And that 
very night we fled. My husband had heard some whis- 
pers that she, that my darling would be taken from us, 
from me.” 

“This is Sylvie Perrier! Why she is only a child 
now!” He advanced a step nearer. “And then Ange- 
lique was only a little girl.” 

It was coming to him by degrees. There was all the 
fortune. That had tempted his mother. But then in 
France marriages were generally arranged by the parents. 

252 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


“And you took my place, Gervaise? You answered 
for me. Oh, you could not quite understand what you 
were doing. Yet it saved her, or you all saved her from 
falling into the wrong hands. But to have a husband 

thrust upon one in childhood ” 

“Let us get to the bottom of the matter. I did your 
mother’s bidding,’’ said Gervaise. “We have never been 

able, or thought it wise, to explain to Sylvie, but now ” 

He turned scarlet. It was hard to establish his own free- 
dom. 

Sylvie raised her head and was looking at both intently. 
Some strange awakening stirred within her. Then she 
crossed to Gervaise, put her hand in his. 

“I shall soon be twelve,” she began, with dignity. 

“And then Barbe said ” 

“Listen, dear.” His voice softened to tenderness. He 
possessed the true savoir faire of his nation. “The Mar- 
quise had loved your mother dearly. She loved you, a 
little child. There were troublous times for little girls 
who were heiresses. So she thought Hugh could care for 
you and yours better than any one else, only you must be 
his wife. Perhaps she knew more than any one else, 
more than she confessed. We were so young and inex- 
perienced. Otherwise you would have been bundled into 
the convent, perhaps Barbe sent away from you. And 

so I stood in Hugh’s stead and married you for him ” 

Hugh de Brienne looked at his young cousin with a 
kind of softening gratitude. He had told the story from 
the most attractive side. Even if the Marquise had cared 
for the estates, many a French mother before her had 
made a good marriage for her son. And Sylvie might 
have been a prey to more than one party, he saw. His 
eyes had appreciation in them, approval. 

Sylvie dropped Gervaise’s hand. She stood a little 
253 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


apart, her very tallest, but she was not large of her age. 
Her blue eyes hardened to steely gleams, her rosebud 
mouth took on severe lines like a woman in indignation. 
Her slim figure seemed to swell and throb. 

“And you did not love me!” she cried in piercing 
pathos. “You did not want me for your little wife! 
You will marry Hortense, or perhaps Zenobie — Zenobie 
who laughs at Telano and torments me whenever I see 
her. You married me to this — this ugly old man!” she 
could not think of anything worse to say, for his faults 
and virtues were alike unknown to her. And truly Hugh 
de Brienne did not look young for his years, which were 
nearing thirty. Hardships and fighting Indians had told 
upon him. “And now,” she continued, “I shall never 
love you any more. I shall hate you both. I ” 

Suddenly she flew to Barbe and sank in her arms, 
weeping hysterically. 

“It is very hard/’ confessed Gervaise, whose lips were all 
of a quiver, “but, you see, the truth had to be told, and there 
is no better time than now. But we have hardly given you 
a word of welcome, cousin Hugh. And sometime Sylvie 
will realize what you have snatched her from. Oh, we are 
so thankful to have you alive ! But where is M’sieu Nor- 
ton? We owe him a debt. I traced you about Detroit 
and then lost sight of you ” 

“I was carried down into Ohio by some friends. I had 
a hard time getting really well. Afterward I met Boone, 
and John Sevier, and others — there were so many plans 
on foot.” 

He looked sharply at Gervaise, who nodded. 

Hugh drew a long breath. “It is a wonderful 
country,” he exclaimed. “It would be grand if it were 
all united from ocean to ocean, a dream larger than that 
of this Corsican who shapes the destinies of France. For 
254 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


where a place is divided up in petty governments there 
will always be friction and disputes. Let me see that 
marriage contract again.” 

Gervaise handed it to him from the rustic stand where 
it had been laid. 

He perused it attentively. “I do not believe my mother 
was aware of its contents. The De Chatillys have been 
Huguenots from early times. There were Catholics at 
Saint Morne, I think. Well — we must do what is best 

for the child. Little Sylvie ” and Hugh approached 

her. 

She flung out her hand forbiddingly. “I hate you!” 
she cried, in an angry tempest. “I will not speak to you, 
nor to Gervaise,” and then, sobbing, she fled down in 
the garden, almost running into Roger Norton’s arms. 
Hylas sat close to his master. Telano was gravely per- 
forming. 

“My little Sylvie, what is the matter?” 

“Oh, I have no one,” in a piteous tone. “Why did you 
bring that dark ugly man here to make trouble? Ger- 
vaise does not care for me any more, though I think he 
hasn’t really cared since he came from the North. And 
Hylas ! he will go away with you. I see in his eyes that 
he loves your little finger more than my whole body! 
I’ve been so good to him, too. Oh, Telano, there is no 
one but you ” 

She hugged the crane with such passionate eagerness 
that he made a protest. Hylas came to her with ques- 
tioning eyes. 

“Go away!” She stamped her pretty foot. “Go to 
your master. I shall not love you any more ! I shall not 
love anybody ! There is no one in the whole wide world 
that I shall care for any more. Perhaps they will put me 
in a convent, and I shall not care. I am so sad, so forlorn, 
so deserted !” 


255 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


It was pathetic to see her unreasoning grief. Norton 
was not a little puzzled to know what had brought all this 
about. Jaques was coming down the path. Barbe had 
sent him to find Sylvie, though she refused his proffers 
of comfort as obstinately and despairingly as the others’. 
Norton rose and sauntered to the house. 

Meanwhile the relatives had been making acquaintance 
anew with a little help from the past. Angelique ad- 
mitted to herself almost at once that this Sieur Hugh 
was not at all the knight of her old remembrance in the 
woods of Brienne. He was still, in her mind, a graceful, 
enthusiastic young fellow, quoting verses and bits of wit, 
a court accomplishment in those days, his fine dark eyes 
full of sentiment, his voice with an enchanting cadence, 
his whole air and manner captivating. 

The eyes were dark but almost severe. They had been 
looking at but few pleasures since that time, and much 
hard, cruel reality. He was very thin and his drooping 
nose seemed out of proportion, while his complexion had 
been turned almost olive by sun and wind. And when 
one’s ideal is suddenly wrenched out to be replaced by 
such a different reality, the old life is laid by like a story 
that is told and done with. 

“The poor little girl,” he said, with a tenderness in his 
tone Angelique had not looked for. “Of course the es- 
tablishment of such a marriage is not to be considered for 
a moment. I must do my best to free her. It may be 
wisdom to go to France and see what I can do for her 
and perhaps for myself, but I am charmed with this New 
World and the large liberty in it, the kind of men it 
makes, the kind of women, too,” and there came a flush 
to his pale cheek. 

“Ah, he has seen some woman he admires,” thought 
Angelique. And then through the fringy laburnums 
25 6 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


she caught sight of the tall, fair fellow, with the sun 
making an aureola of his bronze-brown hair, the ruddy 
color of his cheeks, the lithe, sinewy figure as he played 
with the eager dog. 

Hugh asked about lodging-houses in the vicinity. 

“Oh, there are none nearby. But now that you are 
here, Hugh, you must take the head of the family. And 
the house fortunately is large enough for us all.” 

“You are most cordial,” he returned, politely. 

“Yes, mon cousin ” added Angelique. “We have 
counted so much on your coming, feared so much, too.” 

“If I could have known you were here! I had many 
an anxious night after the news of my mother’s death; 
one keeps busy through the day and is not so easily dis- 
turbed. Then came all those horrible excesses, and 
whether you were all dead or alive I had no means of 
finding out. I only heard you had fled.” 

“Monsieur Norton, come and join us,” cried Gervaise, 
with delightful heartiness. “We have all the relation- 
ships straight. We have the head of the family. But do 
you suppose I shall be as attractive to the demoiselles 
when I no longer have a title in prospect ?” 

He laughed merrily. He was light of heart, relieved 
of the perplexing burden that had been his so long. 
Poor little Sylvie. She was nothing but a child. 

Viny found her by the little lake crying as if all the 
sluice-gates of her heart had broken up and were like 
to sweep her away. The tender black hands of the 
maiden gathered her in her arms and carried her up- 
stairs, showering endearing epithets upon her, kissing 
brow and cheek with fond young lips. 

“I am sick,” she cried wearily. “Take off my frock 
and put me in bed, Viny. No one cares about me. They 
are all full of that black-browed cousin, and I hate him !” 


257 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“He will go away again, Mam’selle,” in her soothing, 
languorous tone. “But — they have wanted him so 
long.” 

“Let them have him. Oh, Viny, I am very, very 
sorrowful. Viny, do you think Zenobie — well, attrac- 
tive ?” 

“She is bright, piquant, and her laugh is — oh, charm- 
ing ! She will have plenty of lovers.” 

“I hope she will,” with a touch of vengefulness hardly 
in keeping with the wish. Ah, if Zenobie could flaunt 
her betrothed in the very face and eyes of Gervaise. He 
liked Claire and was fond of dancing with her, yet Claire 
did not want him for a husband. But what Sylvie most 
desired now was that Gervaise should suffer some sharp 
rending pang of disappointment. 

“Viny ! Viny !” called the peremptory tone of the elder 
servant. “Come at once.” 

“You cannot!” declared Sylvie. “You must remain 
here. Why, I should die alone !” 

Angelique came up. “Let me stay with you,” she said, 
in a beseeching tone. “And there is so much to tell 


“I will not have you ! Go to the cousin you are so glad 
to see. I want only Viny ” 

“But Viny is needed ” 

“I do not care! Do you want me to die here all 
alone?” Sylvie raised herself and brought her small 
dimpled fist down on the pillow with a good deal of 
force for a dying child. “Go away, all of you ! I will 
have no one but Viny.” 

“We have all spoiled her,” said Angelique, excusingly. 
“She is a wilful little thing at best, and just now — but 
there seemed no better way then.” 

258 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


She paused blushing and confused. Gervaise colored 
as well, and had a sharp pang in his heart as to what 
would be an honorable thing when Sylvie Perrier was 
set free from this unfortunate marriage-bond. 

After the meal they all withdrew to the garden. The 
crane stood melancholy enough and would not listen to 
Angelique’s charming. 

“It is a beautiful spot! ,, remarked Hugh. “And 
now I think it strange that I never came here, the only 
real French city. But I have never been in love with the 
Spaniard. Poor Louisiana has been bandied about as if 
she was of little worth. And she has the key to the west- 
ern country/’ 

“Spanish to French, then to Crozat, then to the Com- 
pagnie de l’Occident, then from Louis XV. to Spain in 
that shameful treaty, and now back again ” 

Norton and De Brienne exchanged meaning glances. 
There was another change impending. 

“The French forces have not come in yet?” 

“There will be no French forces, Monsieur” 

Gervaise looked rather amazed. 

“But, Monsieur, we are to belong to France once more. 
Ah, I doubt if you can understand the temper of the 
people here. And if you think this beautiful, what will 
you say to the Lake, to Bayou Teche? And Marigny 
and Pointe Coupee — we must go up there, Gervaise. 
Now that we have found you, mon cousin, we shall 
inspire you with enthusiasm. Such wilds and woods, 
such streams and bayous, such bloom everywhere!” ex- 
claimed Angelique. 

He smiled and nodded. She felt curiously free with 
him as one might with an uncle. He was the head of the 
family and he would add dignity to it. She was glad he 
259 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and the young American were friends. And she knew 
by some intuition, that might have been born of ex- 
perience, that she would never care for a lover like Hugh 
de Brienne. 

That evening when the American was gone and the 
briery little girl lay fast asleep in her white bed, refusing 
all good-night kisses and all attention but Viny’s, and 
Angelique sat by her window too full of thought to sleep, 
wondering about the stars in the moonless heaven and if 
there were strange lives and strange stories of men and 
women loving and being loved. For it is a curious 
relief to put this delicious happening a long way off. 
In the early days of love one likes to believe its mys- 
terious sweetness is in the far future, while feeling the 
golden atmosphere all about. 

Hugh de Brienne, Gervaise and Madame Champe were 
unravelling the family history. 

“I shall go to France as soon as possible,” he 
declared. “If there is any of the old estate left I shall 
be thankful; but I am not afraid of making my way in 
this New World. I like its breadth and energy, its bound- 
less aspirations, its marvellous opportunities. I shall get 
what there is of Sylvie’s fortune, and have this wretched 
travesty of a marriage annulled. The child has a right 
to her own sweet life. Even if she cared for me I should 
be a decade too old. Afterward I shall settle myself 
somewhere and become a citizen of this proud Republic, 
that is making such rapid strides.” 

Barbe looked pleased and admiration shone in her eyes. 
He was not going to make the little one’s fortune an 
object for himself. 

“Gervaise, if you ” then he flushed even under the 

swarthiness of his cheeks. 

Gervaise caught his meaning. “Oh, no, no!” he cried 
260 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


eagerly. “I have always thought of her, you see, as be- 
longing to you, but we had to let her believe that story,” 
flushing up to the edge of his forehead. “She has been a 
pet and plaything, spoiled, as Barbe says; but there are 
years enough to recover, she is still so young.” 

“Poor little thing,” De Brienne said, with a curious ten- 
derness. Had she cared for Gervaise? 

Sylvie ordered her breakfast sent up to her the next 
morning. The sun was so full of dancing lights, the 
birds were so joyous, the air delicious, and now she did 
not feel at all like dying. Telano was calling her from 
below, the great green parrot climbed the balcony-railing 
and cried out in his best Spanish, “Hillo! Hillo! Not 
up yet ?” 

“Yes, I’m up surely. Viny, will you see if those men 
are gone ” in her most disdainful tone. 

“Yes, Mam’selle. The American M’sieu came for 
them.” 

Sylvie was unreasonably vexed. She wanted them 
there so she could disdain them. 

“Then I may venture down. Viny, I am desperately 
angry with Gervaise. I couldn’t even look at him.” 

“Yes, come down. Telano will be so glad.” 

“Where is Hylas?” 

“His master took him home with him last night.” 

“And the deceitful thing has made such pretensions 
of loving me ! I do really think he belonged to me. Did 
he have on his collar ?” 

“Oh, yes, Mam’selle.” 

“Well, I do not care.” 

She did care very much, for if she had not she would 
not have referred to it at all. 

Angelique had looked in, but Sylvie had resolutely 
turned her face to the wall. And just then Monsieur 
Norton had come. 


261 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


The breakfast was delicious. “Why, I didn’t have any 
supper last night,” she said, rather gayly. 

Barbe was sitting in the court as she went down. “Oh, 
my little darling,” she said, in a delighted tone. 

Sylvie ran to her arms. “Oh, Barbe,” she murmured, 
half smothered in Barbe’s neck, “is it true that Gervaise 
married me for that dreadful man?” 

“My dear, not that altogether. We thought that 
under the circumstances it would be better. It had 
something to do with your fortune. Being head of the 
house he could keep it for you. Of course some one had 
to stand in his place. But you are not to be his wife, 
either. He is going to Paris in a few weeks and will 
have it annulled. Then you will be quite free. You 
must not blame Gervaise. He was young, under age, 
and had to do as the Marquise bade him.” 

Ah, that was the sting of it! To do as he was bidden, 
not because it made her happy. She gave a long sigh. 
There was a subtle sense of mortification, too. 

“I do not think you are able to understand it all yet. 
As you grow older ” 

“Oh, yes, I understand that — that no one wants me,” 
and the sweet face was piteous in its forlornness. 

“Oh, my dear, you are all wrong. The Sieur de 
Brienne will be your guardian, just like a father. He 
counts on making you very happy. It will be like 
M’sieu Lavalette and his children.” 

“I thought he was going to Paris.” She made an 
obstinate little moue. 

“But he is coming back. And then we shall have a 
house of our own.” 

“I like this place. Perhaps he will want to live some- 
where else.” 


262 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


“Then he may let us remain here.” 

Telano was loudly demanding his mistress. She 
skipped lightly down the path. 

“It is a hard thing to happen to a child,” Barbe 
ruminated. But the Sieur is certainly very honorable 
and noble. Not every man would do so.” 

Jaques was trimming up the shrubbery. Everything 
grew to a wilderness in a week’s time, he thought. 

“Bon soir to your ladyship. Come and get some roses 
to your cheeks. You look a little pale this morning. 
And the news ? Perhaps you have not heard that. 
Madame Fleurien has a little daughter. And the 
gra’mere is very poorly. Father Antoine was there 
nearly all night. One comes and another goes.” 

“It is not so hard to die when you are very old, is it, 
Jaques?” 

It would seem very hard for her to die this morning. 

“Well, I don’t know, Mam’selle. I’m not very old,” 
and Jaques’s face settled into humorous gleams. 

She ran around gayly. But she missed Hylas. Telano 
seemed asking where he was. Oh, it was hard to be for- 
gotten all in a moment. 

Angelique was sitting in a little arbor sewing leisurely, 
that is, taking a few stitches and then looking down on 
her English book. 

“Come and let us read together,” she said. “The 
others have gone for a whole long day to see the town 
and the lakes, and we shall have to amuse ourselves. 
Claire has a little girl — we must make her something 
pretty.” 

Sylvie tried hard to preserve her anger, but Ange- 
lique’s tone was so persuasive. And then — was she really 
vexed with Angel ? The smile was as sweet as the roses 
263 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


blowing about. The child came and kissed her. “Oh, 
you are reading verses. Read aloud.” 

“Suppose you read. They are very simple with no 
long words in them.” 

“Why, I have never seen this book before !” 

“No,” returned Angelique softly, but why she should 
blush about it puzzled Sylvie. 

It was a little volume of English verse that Norton 
had brought from the East. “You may like it as a 
reading exercise,” he said, in an ordinary fashion that 
took off the air of a gift. 

“Oh, dear, I make so many blunders !” Sylvie laughed 
merrily at herself. 

But they both agreed the poems were very sweet and 
charming. 

“Angel ” after a pause — “did you like that — that 

new Monsieur?” 

“Cousin Hugh ?” with a cordial smile. 

Sylvie nodded. 

“I liked him better at breakfast. And he looks quite 
like the Marquise. He is very thin. Some flesh would 
improve him.” 

“He is very ugly.” 

“He is not very handsome,” assented Angel, with 
a smile, for she was thinking of the contrast between him 
and the American. 

“I shall never like him,” confidently. 

“Sylvie, do not be such an unreasonable little child. 
But you do not need to like him.” 

Sylvie glanced out of upbraiding eyes. 

“We must let all those old things go, dear. The Mar- 
quise thought she was acting for the best, and perhaps 
she did. I knew him when I was a little girl like you, 
and Gervaise was very fond of him.” 

264 


SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROW. 


“Why didn’t he marry you.” 

Angelique drew in her breath to keep the scarlet out of 
her face. She would have been glad enough then; now 
she asked ten times that happiness. 

“And had you and your fortune hidden away in a 
convent. You might have been made a nun whether you 
liked it or not.” 

A shudder ran over Sylvie. This had been done to 
save her, she understood that. 

“But it was wicked in Gervaise to — to make believe. 
And always to let me think ” 

“He has been trying very hard not to make believe. 
He loves you just as he always did.” 

They went to feed the swans and gather some fruit. 
There were a few late oranges that were full of ripening 
flavor. There were others just coming into blooming, 
fruit-setting, they seemed to keep at it most of the year 
round. 

What a long, long day it was ! In the evening a soft 
shower came pattering down on the leaves with a musical 
sound. Sylvie lay in her little bed listening to it, for she 
was not sleepy, and wondering about her life. She still 
felt very sore that Gervaise had not — well, had not loved 
her. Girls did not love first. And yet she had loved 
fondly, strongly, jealously, and she thought she had a 
right, when really she had no right at all. It was very 
hard to be deceived. 

She was up quite early the next morning and went 
down to feed the swans and the herons. Monsieur de 
Brienne stood just beyond the great fig-tree culling some 
of its fruit. Sylvie stopped short. 

“Little Sylvie,” said the voice that had a kind of com- 
manding accent in it, “come here and speak to me. I am 
265 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


your third-cousin, I think your mother was my second- 
cousin.” 

“Oh, did you know my mother ” 

“We were almost of an age. I used to be at Chatilly 
Court when I was a boy. Yes, I was very fond of your 
mother.” 

“And my papa ?” 

“I never saw much of him. After they were married 
he went to Italy and she rejoined him. A soldier’s wife 
she was. But your good Barbe can tell you much more. 
She was with her all the time. And when she came to 
Brienne I had just started for America.” 

She was crumbling bread to the swans. Yes, Barbe 
had promised to tell her all this some day when she was 
older, so why should she ask anything of him? 

“Sylvie,” he said presently, wondering at her sudden 
loss of interest and her silence. “I want you to trust me. 
I mean to be your best friend. And you must not hate 
me for what I really had no hand in. Now that I have 
studied it all over it can easily be undone. And you must 
consider yourself quite free until the law makes you so.” 

Sylvie hung her head. She was in no hurry to be won 
over. And looking at him from under her long lashes 
she felt a little afraid of his stern face. The men she 
had come to know best were so affable and smiling; 
Henri and Gervaise were so merry. 

“Yes — I want to be your friend — I want you to trust 
me,” he repeated. 

She had been trusting everybody and the trust had been 
pettishly. “I do not care for anything.” 

“I shall try to get back your fortune ” 

“I do not care for any fortune,” she made answer 
pettishly “I do not care for anything.” 

“Oh, you will in two or three years.” 

266 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


She straightened her figure; she compressed her lips 
that were like the opening leaf of a rosebud. “I have 
fed all my crumbs,” and she turned to go in. 

“What a perverse little thing,” he said to himself. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A NEW INHERITANCE. 

Soon after breakfast word was sent down that 
gra’mere had died in the night. 

“I must go up,” Gervaise said at once. “Cousin 
Hugh, come for the walk.” 

“With pleasure,” was the answer. 

“And they will spend an hour with Zenobie,” thought 
the jealous little girl. 

After their call of condolence, and they saw no one but 
Madame Lavalette, they took another long ramble. 
Gervaise had made no proffer of reconciliation. He had 
said good-morning to her and she had not replied, except 
with an indifferent nod of the head. 

How lovely it was that glowing autumn morning, the 
blazing splendor of the sun tempered by the shades in the 
luxuriant foliage. 

“It is a magnificent country!” cried Hugh, roused to 
enthusiasm. “Oh, I do not wonder that even the first 
settlers were struck with its richness. And I can see 
how they could fancy there was gold in the yellow sands. 
But it is not gold alone that makes a prosperous 
country. The northeast looks barren to this, but the art 
2 67 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and industry of man coin it into profit. They have no 
dreams of gold-mines in their rugged soil.” 

“It was largely a Spanish dream,” returned Gervaise, 
smiling. “The Frenchman thinks more of his home. 
You must see what the Acadians have done.” 

“I saw what they had left,” with a little grimness. 
“Theirs was a cruel removal. I went first to Canada, 
you know. After my next journey I think I shall be 
content to settle down.” 

“You will not remain in France?” 

“Oh, no. I am curiously interested in seeing this 
country work out the large problems it has undertaken. 
I have not much faith in the Consulate.” 

“You think there will be another revolution?” Ger- 
vaise questioned in surprise. 

“No. The mailed hand is too strong. The ambition 
is too soaring to rest here. Napoleon will never make 
a Washington. As for my own estate, I expect little of 
that. But I shall try to get something for Sylvie. 
Gervaise ” 

He looked steadily at the young fellow. He liked him 
very much. All the fondness for the bright boyish 
comrade of years ago had returned. If he could marry 
Sylvie when the unfortunate complication had been 
brought to naught ! 

“I understand you, Hugh,” and he flushed scarlet. 
“But — there is some one else, and she is such a child. 
With a fortune she will have no lack of lovers. It would 
really be unfair to take advantage of this youthful 
penchant.” 

“Perhaps so. I wish you all success.” Yet Hugh 
sighed for little Sylvie’s sake. And it would be agree- 
able to have the branches of the family thus united. 

“You do not care to go to France with me?” 

268 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


“I ought not leave them alone. How do we know 
but another attempt may be made to obtain possession of 
Sylvie ?” 

“True. Well, perhaps it is fortunate that I have a 
husband’s authority. Did you ever see a person more 
nonplussed than Father Gilbert? He was a good man, 
a devoted missionary. The Indian woman, Wenonah, 
was a devout Catholic. I think she saved me from the 
enemy, as well as brought me back to life. And she 
thought me dying when the priest came in. I do not re- 
member anything of the ceremony, but it comforted her 
immeasurably. And with this contract or assignment, 
they certainly would have had a right to the child and her 
property. So you need not regret that you stood in my 
place. It will all come right for her.” 

But the child-woman was not to be so easily placated. 
She could be politely indifferent to De Brienne, for she 
stood a little in awe of him, but she had dozens of sharp- 
pointed arrows for Gervaise ; indeed, she bristled all over 
with them. 

There was the funeral at the Lavalettes’, a very im- 
posing affair that would have rejoiced the little old lady 
who had rounded out her century and who unknowingly 
had ended with the foreign domination of the province 
to which she had come a hesitating stranger, and led a 
long and happy life. 

For events were marching on rapidly. While the 
French were watching with bated breath for the promised 
restoration to their own land, which was after all more 
a matter of sentiment than any forerunner of prosperity, 
instead of General Victor came a vessel from Bordeaux 
with the official announcement that the whole province 
had been ceded to the United States for a money con- 
sideration. Again they had been sold by a French ruler. 

269 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


The last of November the whole town was astir. The 
Place d’Armes glittered with troops and resounded with 
salvos of artillery. The inefficient old man, Don John 
Manuel de Salcedo, perhaps no unfit representative, in 
his infirm old age, of the once powerful kingdom that 
had terrorized the world and was now fast losing its 
grasp on its colonies, met the French Laussat and de- 
livered to him the keys of New Orleans. The Marquis 
of Casa Calvo declared the people absolved from all 
allegiance to Spain. 

And now from the flagstaff slowly descended the 
colors of Spain, that had flaunted defiance and rule for 
thirty-five years, that had claimed jurisdiction over the 
mighty Mississippi, hampered commerce, endeavored to 
shut out the new, rising nation on its westward march 
of civilization. The French flag went up. There was 
some ignorant rejoicing, many cheers for the beloved 
tricolor, much shaking of heads and muttering under 
one’s breath what it was not advisable to say aloud. 

Twenty days later the ceremony was repeated. The 
young Virginian, Governor Claiborne, appointed by 
President Jefferson, and his aide, General Wilkinson, 
received from Laussat in the name of Bonaparte, ruler 
of France, the keys of the port, the authority of the whole 
magnificent territory, and the town of New Orleans was 
American. Down slowly came the tricolor, but up went 
another, the Stars and Stripes. 

There was little rejoicing. There were those who 
recalled the advent of O’Reilly, when the flag had been 
lowered, and the strong hand of Spanish law brought 
death and banishment for many. But now they made no 
appeal to France. The humiliation of a price — eighty 
million francs — the being cast off a second time made 
270 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


their shame, as they thought, complete. They were in the 
hands of new masters, why should they rejoice? 

And they were not in love with their new masters, 
the restless, pushing Americans. There were militia 
companies parading the streets, there were American 
appointees in offices, there were new courts, new ways, and 
the barbarous English tongue was heard everywhere. 
Creole indigation, overflowed, but did not run to riot 
except in unimportant instances, in a cabaret quarrel and 
fight, or at a French ball. 

But old New Orleans was slowly to fade away. Even 
now the picturesque quaint foreign town was overflow- 
ing its boundaries. Streets stretched out and were 
building up, even if they were unpaved and poorly 
lighted. Stores increased, warehouses multiplied, and 
the town was fast becoming what its destiny had been 
from the first, a commercial seaport. So many restric- 
tions were removed that trade took leaps and bounds. 
There was a .splendid future to the town. 

Yet the Creoles stood a little apart. To be sure, they 
accepted office, they loaned money when they had it. 
The old Jesuit plantations, where the first sugar-cane had 
been tried and failed, had been confiscated years before 
and were now laid out in streets. The Faubourg St. 
Mary seemed to build up by the hour. Even the old 
Carondelet Canal, half choked with debris, was busy 
enough. Lake Maurepas, lakes Borgne and Pontchar- 
train were dotted with trading-craft, docks, and wharves. 
And farther down all was activity. 

In the town itself the little cabins with their ill-lighted 
stores were replaced by brick buildings or those of sub- 
stantial frame or plaster. And though the old native 
residents felt that they were being pushed to the wall, 
they saw presently that there was room and business, 
271 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


that they were lifted up to commercial respect, and some 
even then dreamed of a great future, but no one’s 
imaginings could have surpassed the reality. For Louisi- 
ana had been transplanted for the last time. There 
were Spaniards who insisted Spain’s rule had been 
judicious and that her eclipse as a great power was only 
temporary; that when she arose in her might she would 
receive her colonies back with open arms; there were 
French who looked for a quarrel with America and a 
recession, but neither came. Old things had passed 
away. A new New Orleans was rising on the foundation 
of the old. 

All this had caused no little excitement at the old 
house on the St. John Road. The Lavalettes had been 
full of enthusiasm at first, and then filled with such bitter 
disappointment that Zenobie did not conceal her indigna- 
tion from her young admirer. The De Longpres were 
more prudent ; perhaps the head of the house saw clearly 
where his best interest lay. The western trade was 
coming down the river from the great country, the rivers 
and lakes above. The agricultural resources would be 
enormous. 

“We may not adore our new masters,” said Monsieur 
de Longpre to Hugh de Brienne, “but what will you? 
We did not adore the old. These give us more privileges. 
They are broader. It brings business.” 

Monsieur de Brienne had already fallen into a certain 
friendliness with the merchant. And though he eyed the 
American with a faint distrust, the two were such friends 
that he understood a coldness to him would be resented. 

They as well as some others knew of the grand scheme 
that had received its death-blow from various sources 
before it had perfected any real organization. 

“It is the best thing that could have happened,” said 
272 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


Norton. “One can see such a division would have led 
to endless bickerings. England is ready to spring upon 
us again, and France captious and overbearing. Some 
day we shall be united for another grand fight, and then 
we shall learn the advantages of union. Florida must 
be ours.” 

Norton was offered a position under the new govern- 
ment; and though he did not admire Wilkinson, indeed, 
knew too much about his intrigues, he felt he might be 
able to serve his country in more ways than translating 
between French and English and attending to cor- 
respondence. 

They had all gone down in the town to see the Spanish 
flag lowered. It was a happy day for Mere Milhet as 
well as many another. Old scores were repaid. The new 
French ruler could dictate terms to Spain, ah, that was 
glorious! And though the Lavalettes were in mourning 
and went into no society, they must be witnesses of this 
grand event. There was Aunt Melanie, and Hortense, 
quite closely guarded now, as she was a young lady. 

Sylvie had been a very unhappy little girl. After a 
few days Gervaise began to act quite as if nothing had 
happened between them. He would much rather have put 
his arm about her and strolled up and down the old 
garden as they used ; she was not only cold and 
resentful, but her very air suggested that she would not 
listen with any degree of reason. And he was enjoying 
his new-found freedom so much. He had felt curiously 
irked since his return until the word had come about his 
cousin. And now he was light-hearted enough, and gay 
with Angel. 

Monsieur de Brienne was very gentle and fatherly. 
He admired Telano, he haunted the little lake, he talked 
garden and fruit to Jaques, government and the future 
273 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


of the country with Gervaise, and dropped into confi- 
dences with Angelique. She tried very hard to resist his 
kindness, but he seemed not to remark that. 

The Marquis de Brienne did not lack for social 
recognition if he was not handsome and vivacious. And 
now down on the plaza Sylvie felt really proud to be in his 
charge. To be sure, Gervaise went at once to the side of 
Madame Lavalette and Zenobie, who was extremely dec- 
orous and nodded gravely to her friends. Hortense, 
on the contrary, was all brightness and animation, and 
full of enthusiasm. 

Gervaise made many errands up to the plantation for 
the next fortnight. Sometimes Hugh accompanied him, 
and while he would talk to Madame Mere, the young 
people down at the end of the gallery found many things 
to say to each other. 

But when the French flag came down, Zenobie’s 
indignation knew no bounds. 

“Why, the matter was settled before that,” said Ger- 
vaise. “It was because you people did not want to believe 
it. The bargaining had been going on a long time. At 
first the United States would not pay what Bonaparte 
asked.” 

“And the Americans are such petty bargain-makers!” 
cried the scornful girl. “To buy up a country whether 
the people will or no! To beat down, to give the lowest 
price — why, it is like a slave-dealer!” 

“And they give the whole province such liberty as 
they never had before. They can elect their own officers, 
they can trade where they will. They are a self-govern- 
ing territory except in a few matters, and some day may 
be a splendid State.” 

“Self-governing !” The tone was both bitter and in- 
credulous. “Then they send a governor, an American, 
274 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


they are forming military companies, they are putting 
their men in the offices as fast as possible ” 

‘‘As if the French wouldn’t have turned out the 
Spaniards fast enough if they had the power. And your 
governor would have come from France.” 

“We should have given him a welcome, Monsieur. 
He would have been of our own people. We are 
French.” 

Politics and religion make bitter quarrels. And these 
young people, the girl knowing nothing about the cir- 
cumstances of the last two years that had brought about 
this culmination, the young fellow, whose soul had been 
broadened by travel and contact with his kind, plunged 
into an unequal warfare. 

“Good-evening, Monsieur,” said Zenobie, loftily, and 
swept across the gallery. 

Gervaise was angry. There were no more idle morn- 
ings or pleasant evenings at the Lavalettes’. 

The mornings indeed were soon devoted to more sub- 
stantial matters. M. de Longpre had found a very 
pleasant and suitable position for the young friend of his 
son, a fine young fellow, he thought. 

And since even the best of girls gossip a little, Hortense 
was not slow in retailing this to Sylvie, and the little girl 
took a malicious sort of pleasure in it. She hoped Ger- 
vaise loved Zenobie extravagantly, for the more he loved, 
the more deeply he would suffer. And now he would 
know ! 

There were two other circumstances occupying her a 
good deal. One was the departure of Cousin Hugh. 
She had grown quite used to him, and somehow, she 
thought him improved in looks. He was not so thin, 
that made a difference. His nose was less prominent, 
and when he smiled — it was a grave sort of smile, but 

275 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


had a certain sweetness in it that one could recall so 
easily — it softened all his face. His eyes were dark and 
resolute, she had called them fierce at first, but occasion- 
ally there came a shade of tenderness in them that almost 
won her against herself. 

The other was a very curious interest in Monsieur 
Norton, who might be considered a regular evening 
visitor. Hylas was very glad to come as well. Sylvie 
always upbraided him for not loving her best, and then 
they had a royal romp up and down the old garden. 
Sometimes Angel and M’sieu walked about, for it was 
still very pleasant; sometimes he read verses to her, 
or made her read to him. Sylvie liked him very much. 
He often brought her bonbons — they had them even then, 
and little girls were fond of them. 

One evening Cousin Hugh took Angel down the 
oleander walk. Sylvie came skipping along. 

“I have something quite confidential to say to Angel,” 
and he made a little gesture of dismissal. “Then I have 
something for your ear alone that Angel must not hear.” 

“But if it is alike ” 

“Ah, but it isn’t alike,” he interrupted, smiling at 
Sylvie. 

She returned to the court reluctantly. “Telano,” she 
said, sadly, “I wish I had a great secret to tell you. I 
used to have secrets,” and she sighed. 

Hugh fell into step with Angelique. How soft and 
sweet the air was all about them ! 

“I think if I can get money enough out of the wreck 
of anything, I shall buy this old place when I come back,” 
he said. “I like it so very much. I like New Orleans, 
and it has a great future before it. And I feel that I, 
too, am pervaded with what Gervaise calls patriotism.” 

276 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


Angel laughed softly. “We shall be French- Ameri- 
cans,” she said. 

“You do not want to go back to the mother country?” 

“Oh, no, no,” earnestly. 

“I am glad to hear you say so. While I am gone I want 
to leave Sylvie in your care. She really ought to have 
some regular education. It is what the province lacks. 
If some one could be found — I like many things in the 
Eastern system. But I must say, Angel, I think you 
unusually intelligent.” 

“Oh, thank you,” she gave a soft little laugh. 

“This was not my secret, however. Angel, as head of 
the family I have been asked to sanction a young man’s 
visits and addresses, and consent to a betrothal. I like 
him very much. But it is for you decide, my dear 
cousin. He will ask his own question. He is not rich, 
though he may be in a few years. I like the fashion 
of two people making an election. My dear Angel, I 
hope you will be very happy.” 

He bent over a little and kissed her on the forehead, 
but he felt the fluttering warmth on his lips. 

“If I had a brother I should like him to resemble Roger 
Norton,” he said. 

“Thank you for so high a compliment,” she returned. 

“You have been a brave girl all the way thiough,” he 
exclaimed. “You deserve a brave husband. And if you 
did not mind waiting — I hope to be back in a year at the 

longest ” he also hoped then to be able to give her a 

dowry, although he knew this would be no object to 
Norton. How proud Americans were ! 

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “And I will do my best for 
Sylvie.” 

“I really hate to leave you all,” and he sighed. 

So the arrangements were made for his journey. 
277 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


They had heard nothing further of Pere Gilbert. He 
had questioned Father Antoine of the cathedral, and the 
Father at the convent; but Pere Gilbert, so far as they 
knew, had left New Orleans at once after his fruitless 
mission. 

“My journey to Paris is to claim my wife’s estates,” 
he said, in a decisive tone, to Pere Moras. “She is my 
ward as well as wife, but too young to take her position 
as such. Of course if I had been dead the matter would 
have been settled otherwise.” 

“The priest bowed, then said thoughtfully, “But it 
seems an irregular sort of marriage, to say the least.” 

“Still the priest of St. Eudor solemnized it. At the 
proper time there will be another ceremony.” 

Then they bowed again to each other, and Hugh went 
his way. 

“I doubt if any other Church keeps secrets as well,” he 
mused. 

“Do you know, little Sylvie, that I am going away 
to-morrow?” Hugh de Brienne asked, as she sat idly 
feeding the swans. 

“And you never told me the secret,” she said, resent- 
fully. She had been too proud to suggest it before. 

“Yes — I spoke of it once. Sylvie, you will be a year 
older and a year wiser when I come back.” 

Sylvie tapped her foot on the stone coping and threw 
some crumbs half over the pond to make the swans swim 
after them. 

“I shall be past thirteen then.” 

“And how about the wisdom ?” 

He looked as if he was teasing her. 

“Oh, I do not care about the wisdom. Aunt Barbe 
was reading something — ‘In wisdom is sorrow,’ I think 
it was.” 


278 


A NEW INHERITANCE. 


“And you do not like sorrow ?” 

“Indeed I do not. I have had enough sorrow,” and 
she sighed. 

“I think you have, poor child,” yet he was amused at 
the affectation. “When I come back I shall bring you 
some joys.” 

She would not ask what the joys were. He wanted 
to shake the obstinate little thing. 

“One will be your mother’s fortune.” 

“Then I should like to buy this place, and live here 
always. Jaques likes it so much. And Barbe.” 

“That would be a nice thing to do.” 

“And then, Sylvie,” as she was looking down the 
magnolia walk, bright with glossy leaves — “then, Sylvie, 
I shall bring you back your freedom. It would be very 
hard to be tied all your life to an ugly old fellow.” 

Sylvie hung her head and flushed scarlet. 

“Then you will be a very fortunate young lady, 
growing up in this quaint old city, sharing pleasures with 
other girls ” 

“But I don’t know any girls,” she interrupted. 

“You will then. I want you to have a happy time, 
little Sylvie. You will come to know many things and 
have friends and joys, and an indulgent old guardian 
who will make life as joyous for you as he knows how. 
And he hopes then to have a little of your confidence and 
that you will never feel afraid to ask him for anything 
you want.” 

Her head was bent down and the soft light hair hid her 
face. 

“What shall I bring you from Paris?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” in a slow tone. 

“Nothing?” 

She sprang up suddenly and flung her arms about his 
279 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


neck. “Oh, don’t go,” she cried, with a long-drawn 
breath. “Stay here with us ; I don’t care about the 
fortune. I am sorry I called you old and ugly !” 


CHAPTER XX. 

LAURE. 

It was very lonely for the little girl when Cousin Hugh 
went away. She had really no companions. The chil- 
dren who went to the convent and to the French schools 
were all Catholics. They had festas, they had little plays ; 
most of them had a certain intimacy with the slave 
children who did all manner of laughable tricks and sang 
French or Spanish songs to amuse them, and slave nurses 
who were trained to obey every whim. They took 
promenades thus attended, but Sylvie was outside of 
all this. Besides, she was getting to be a large girl. 
Training Telano did not satisfy her. And it seemed 
as if Telano had come to the limit of his faculties. 

“I suppose,” she said, sagely, to Barbe, “that is the 
great difference between animals and us. They just do 
the same things over again and seem never to get tired of 
them. We want something new and different; we want 
to go on.” 

“But there are books, petite. You have not learned 
everything out of them.” 

“I can read English very well. Oh, I wish there were 
story-books in abundance. I have to make them up 
myself. I think, what if the swans could talk! And 
280 


LAURE. 


the birds, who go to so many different countries. Then 
the wind sings strange songs through the trees. Oh, 
Barbe, I wish I had a violin! I am sure I could make 
beautiful music. ,, 

“A violin! A real fiddle! I never heard of such a 
thing for a girl !” cried Barbe, horrified. 

“There was a little black girl down by the levee playing 
on a fiddle, and her brother, a wee tiny thing, 
danced ” 

“Perhaps you would like to be black, then ?” said Barbe, 
with asperity. 

“They have such good times,” sighed the child. 

“I’m ashamed of you. What do you suppose Monsieur 
de Brienne would say ?” 

Sometimes Sylvie thought she would not care a bit 
what he said. 

Gervaise went to business every morning. He was 
quite an important man. They had never come back to 
the old freedom of affectionate friendship. She was too 
big to pet and tease, and not big enough to understand 
and accept the difference. Then, too, he was preoccu- 
pied with his quarrel with Zenobie. She held her head 
up very straight and bowed in a chilling manner when 
they passed each other as they often did. He thought her 
very self-willed and opinionated, he half believed ignorant. 
Angelique was much broader. Even Hortense was coming 
to accept the new regime. But then her father was a 
shrewd business man, and saw in a little while that in- 
stead of tyrannous exactions from a far-away govern- 
ment who knew nothing of the needs of its colony, there 
would be the liberal policy of unhampered trade, and a 
certain protection against injustice. 

Even the young Governor was making himself quite 
agreeable. To be sure, there was much friction, but the 
281 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


feminine part paid little heed to the intricacies of govern- 
ment. There were some very attractive Americans, and 
while they might rail at them to their own kinsmen, they 
accepted little attentions when there was no stem male 
relative to interfere. 

So Hortense was less prejudiced. A very charming 
young lady now, who still petted Sylvie, but adored her 
less. She had many friends of her own, and there were 
dances and visits to plantations, birthday festas and 
saints’ days, and walks and drives. Aunt Melanie was 
sometimes at her wits’ end. 

“You must choose a husband for Hortense,” she said 
sharply to her brother. “Girls are not what they used 
to be in my day. She is too much of a coquette.” 

She did dearly love a bit of fun, and if it outwitted the 
sharp eyes so continually watching her, she enjoyed it all 
the more. 

Sylvie did not get much entertainment from either of 
these quasi-friends. Then Gervaise went down to the 
De Longpres’ so often there was no need of Hortense 
coming up to spend an hour roaming about with the child. 
For Gervaise was not there to join them. 

And Angelique was engrossed with her own affairs. 
Monsieur Norton was an almost daily visitor, and her 
attendant when she went out to any pleasure. Barbe 
played propriety with a rather ill grace at times, it must 
be confessed; yet she liked him very much. Indeed, 
Hugh had bespoken his supervision for the household. 
These excursions up or down the river or on the lakes 
were a great pleasure to Sylvie, as four were always 
better company. 

So the winter wore away with its holidays and some 
sharpish, cold weather. Lent began, and everybody, 
Catholic and Protestant, went to hear Pere Antoine at 
282 


LAURE. 


the cathedral, who preached most eloquent sermons. 
And though there was a break at Mi-careme, they went 
back to church-going with devoutness and simplicity. 

Spring was early, and there were some tremendous 
freshets that swept and swirled down the great river, 
carried away the levees and wrecked the shipping, to say 
nothing of the plantations that suffered. People went 
out to view the destruction, and painful stories were told 
of families that had perished. But everything came out 
in glory and beauty, such as is only known in Southern 
countries; and Sylvie Perrier drank in its loveliness, and 
talked to the trees and the birds, and answered the soft 
winds that went murmuring by. Fifty years later the 
little girl would have been a poet, for then education and 
intelligence were generally diffused ; and it was no draw- 
back to be educated and put the knowledge to some use. 

She was wandering up and down in the garden one 
morning, singing to herself. Roses were everywhere, 
such countless varieties that had never known a florist’s 
art, but seemed to grow and bloom in their riotous fash- 
ion for the mere love of being beautiful and generous. 

“Mam’selle,” said Viny, “there is a visitor. She asks 
if she may come out to the garden to you, Mam’selle 
Laure Gorgas.” 

“Oh, yes!” Sylvie’s face was all alight. How long 
it had been since she had really seen Laure, except to 
pass her casually! She had heard from Mere Milhet 
that Laure had begun her novitiate. 

“It is the best thing, poor child,” Mere Milhet had 
explained. “You see she had no one. She could never 
tell whose child she was. And in the convent it would 
make no difference, they are all children of God. Then 
there is nothing for such girls to do. The free women 
of color take up the small industries — hair-dressing and 
283 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


the making of gowns and pelisses and caps — when one’s 
own slaves cannot attend to it. To set up a little school 
would be useless ; there are women now who hardly earn 
their bread. So it was wise in her to seek a home, as she 
was not likely to marry well.” 

Laure came forward. Her gown was gray, and she 
had a small white cap, such as the young girls wore. 

“Oh, Laure! What a long while it has been since I 
have seen you! And — ” she studied her with a curious 
interest — “you have changed mysteriously. You are — 
perhaps not prettier, but softer, sweeter. You look hap- 
pier. Oh, Laure, I read in a book only a few days ago 
that happiness made one beautiful, and I wished every- 
body could be happy!” 

“I shall never be beautiful, Mam’selle, not even when 
I am the happiest.” 

“Is it because — oh, Laure, are you glad to be a nun?” 
in a curious, eager breath. 

The girl’s figure that had been rather stout was much 
slimmer, though she had filled out in the shoulders. Her 
skin was clear, somewhat pale, her eyes a sort of greenish 
brown, one of the hazel shades. Her nose was short and 
so was her upper lip, but her teeth were white and even. 

“Let us sit down, I have so much to tell you. And 
I ought to beg your pardon on my knees for something 
I did a long while ago. I think it made no difference. 
Your cousin, the Marquis of Brienne, came ” 

“Yes, we were all afraid he was dead. It was — yes, 
it was a great joy.” 

“And he has gone back to France?” 

“He is to return. It is about some estates ” 

“You will be rich, Mademoiselle.” 

Sylvie laughed, doubtfully. “I do not know. I do 
not care.” 


284 


LAURE. 


“Oh, but you will presently. When you are a real 
young lady. You did not have to go?” 

“No. I could have gone — that is, Cousin Hugh would 
have taken me, but Angelique did not want to, and I 
should be afraid to cross the ocean.” 

There was a silence of some minutes. Laure picked 
at the white kerchief folded about her shoulders, and her 
rather pallid face flushed. 

“A priest came from France to learn something about 
you. He was here at the convent.” 

“Oh, yes,” answered Sylvie, indifferently. It seemed 
almost like a dream to her, but it was one of the secrets 
with which her small life had been weighted. 

“I heard some of the conversation. The Sister knew 
nothing about you. So many people thought you ManT- 
selle Angelique’s sister with the same name or Monsieur 
Anbreton’s.” 

Sylvie made no answer, wondering what all this was 
leading to. 

“The Mother Superior was ill. Things were in a kind 
of confused state. Pere Antoine was away. No one 
seemed to know. Then I asked him some questions ” 

Laure’s face turned from red to swarthiness. 

“Well?” a little impatiently. It seemed to Sylvie a 
great deal of talk about a matter that was of no account 
now. 

Laure slid down on her knees and caught Sylvie’s 
gown in her hands. 

“Oh, Mam’selle, I know it made no difference. He 
could have learned it elsewhere. It was what was in 
my heart. I have often felt envious of you. You had so 
many to love you. You were so indulged. You could 
do as you liked. And when he, that strange priest, said 
they wanted to take you back to France, that you had 
285 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


been given to a convent, and that was your rightful place, 
it seemed as if all my prayers for you were going to be 
answered, and I would help. It was wicked, because 
I felt if there was no other refuge but a convent for poor 
me, why should not you and other prosperous people 
go in them; not simply those who could not help them- 
selves. And I want you to forgive me for the envy and 
jealousy ” 

‘‘Did you really want me to be put in a convent?” said 
Sylvie, aghast. 

“I did then. I was glad to tell. And then all night 
I tossed about and felt so wretched. I wanted to come 
and warn you. I went to Pere Moras and confessed, and 
he said I had only done my duty, but that Pere Gilbert 
could have found out without me; that Monsieur La- 
valette knew all about the household. But it seems there 
was some mistake. I asked about it afterward. And 
I found they did not take you away, and that tall, dark 
cousin came who was a marquis. I saw you out after- 
ward ” 

“It was very mean in you, Laurel What had I ever 
done to you that you should want me shut up in a con- 
vent? And to be sent to France ” 

Sylvie wanted to shake off the hands that were clutch- 
ing her gown. 

“Oh, it was worse than that, wicked in the extreme! 
Oh, Mam’selle, if you had known how many nights I 
just knelt on the floor and prayed and prayed that no 
evil might happen to you, and that you might be, oh, 
very happy! And now I am going away. I am going 
to have a new life. I have learned so many things about 
love and God and the Blessed Virgin and real religion. 
But I couldn’t go without telling you this and begging 
your forgiveness ” 


286 


LAURE. 


The weeping, drooping figure appealed to Sylvie. She 
had been very naughty and obdurate as well. And she 
would have liked to see Zenobie put in a convent, because 
Gervaise fancied her. 

“Oh, Laure, don’t cry! You see it didn’t make any 
difference at all. It was a mistake — it was about some- 
thing else, and — and Cousin Hugh is coming back, and 
— people can’t be good right along. No one is.” 

Then she held out her hands and smiled, so sweet 
a smile it warmed the other’s heart. 

“Sit here and tell me where you are going.” 

“Oh, Mam’selle, maybe this is all wrong; but it can’t 
be if all goes as we have planned, and the good Lord puts 
no obstacle in the way. That is just how we have left it. 
I am going away from the convent to be a true mother 
to a sweet little girl, and — and a wife to a young man 
I love very much.” 

“Oh, Laure !” in utter amazement. 

“Don’t think ill of me, Mam’selje Sylvie,” pleaded the 
broken voice. 

“Ill ! Why, Laure, it is just lovely. Oh, tell me all 
about it!” and Sylvie caught the passive hand in her 
eagerness. 

“I wanted to. There is no one else, and I thought if 
you forgave me, I could tell it all to you. Why, Mam’- 
selle, if it was to save you any pain or trouble now, I’d 
walk through the fire for you! And when Mere Milhet 
tells the story and accuses me of ingratitude, you will 
know how it was. Mere Milhet has been very good to 
me. I might have been half beaten to death and turned 
out to starve. I couldn’t have been sold for a slave, 
because I was white ; but many a slave had a better home. 
If I had been pretty, Mere Milhet might have liked me 
for a sort of daughter. She was very good to me, and 
287 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


I was grateful enough until she began to talk about my 
being a nun. From the very first I hated it. I should 
have run away, but I could not tell where to go. There 
are so many cruel people in the world. I was afraid. 
So I just went on and on, and tried to be good, and was 
wicked, and repented; and last year she planned to have 
me begin my novitiate. I had no dowry ; I was not pretty, 
and no one would want to marry me — that is, no one 
worth having, she thought. But when the girls went 
away from school, and had lovers, and were married, it 
seemed hard to be shut out. For I was willing enough 
to work. And I used to wish the times of the casket 
girls were back again, and you could go where some nice 
kindly man wanted you, and you could keep his house, 
and make him happy, and care for his children when 
they came, and love him. ,, 

She drew a long breath she had talked so fast. Sylvie’s 
eyes were shining in the most beautiful, tender light 
imaginable, and inspired her. 

“There was a baby brought to the convent whose 
mother had just died, and whose father was to go away 
on quite a long voyage. I begged to take care of it, it was 
so small and helpless. And then I began to love it so. 
I used to think if its father never came back, and it could 
grow up in the convent and be mine, I would be quite 
willing to be a nun. But its father came and went. He 
had a two years’ engagement with this sea captain. A 
fortnight ago that was at an end, and then he told me he 
was going East to his native city, where he had a better 
chance for business, and would take his little girl and 
settle. Oh, Mam’selle, I felt as if some one had suddenly 
struck me down. I wanted to die. I think I said I could 
not live if the baby was taken away. I just cried all 
night long. She loves me. Her little baby hands 
288 


LAURE. 


were so sweet. Her eyes are blue, not so beautiful as 
yours, but tender and loving. And her lips so full of 
delicious kisses ! When he came again we happened to 
be alone, and he told me what he had been thinking of. 
Americans are so different, you know ; and then I had no 
mother or father that he could consult. Mere Milhet 
would not have understood him. And he said since I 
loved the baby so much, and she loved me, and that it 
would be a pity to separate us, so why should he not 
marry me. He had thought a great deal about me, and 
he was quite sure he could take good care of me and make 
me very happy. Oh, Sylvie! I was so afraid at first 
that it was wrong to desire to be happy. And then when 
I looked at the dreary little nun’s cell, the long years 
spent in teaching children and caring for the sick — it is 
all good work and God’s work, but some may like it 
better than others. It would be a great trial to me, a 
continual fight. And Sunday the good Pere Antoine 
preached such a lovely sermon about our ingratitude in 
refusing any happiness God sent us. So then I gave in. 
I told him last night I would go. I am to be the baby’s 
nurse. And when we get to Baltimore we shall be mar- 
ried, and then I will be her mother. Oh, I wonder if it 
is wicked? He is not of my Church, but we will be 
married by a priest. And there are so many Catholic 
people in Baltimore that I shall not feel at all strange, 
he says. One of the Sisters will go down to the boat 
with me; and when it is ready to start he will take her 
off, and he knows how to manage it so there will be no 
trouble. I am to wear my Sister’s dress all the time on 
the boat. He will be busy, he has so much to do; but 
then I shall see him. Oh, Mam’selle, wish me good luck. 
You escaped the pirates and everything; and if you give 
me the wish, I know I shall go safely, and because you 
289 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


were so good as to forgive me when I meant you ill. 
I was unhappy all the time; but now I should not wish 
any one ill, not even the woman who used to beat me. 
I want all the world to be happy.” 

“Oh, you will, you will ! And I will pray every day — 
it is to the same God, you know. And you will always be 
good to the little girl? What is her name?” 

“Oh, ManTselle, you won’t be vexed, but I coaxed him 
to have her christened Angelique. She looks so like an 
angel with a crown of yellow curls and blue eyes. I 
always call her that. And I shall always think of you. 
I am glad I know how to write; and if you will be 
pleased, I will send you a letter from Baltimore.” 

“Oh, I should like it above all things !” 

“And now I must go. If it had not been so far, I 
should have brought the little one.” 

“Oh, I should like to see her. When are you going?” 

“This evening at four. Oh, ManTselle, do you think it 
wrong?” in an imploring tone, longing for the comfort of 
assurance. 

“No,” answered Sylvie, stoutly, from the depths of her 
immature judgment. 

“Oh, thank you a thousand times. Might I kiss you 
just once before I go?” 

Sylvie clasped her arms about the other’s neck, and 
kissed her, not once, but a dozen times. 

“And you won’t forget the letter!” 

“Oh, no, no! Oh, ManTselle, may you be very, very 
happy.” 

Sylvie sat quite still on the bench after she was gone. 
Poor Laure ! How hard she had tried to be a religieuse 
no one knew. Sylvie had a vague impression, but she 
was too young to formulate any comprehensive idea. 
Only Laure had been longing for love all her life; and 


290 


LAURE. 


no one had really loved her until she came to the little 
baby, Angelique Clark. It seemed such an odd name, as 
if two nationalities met in it. Sylvie had seen the baby 
months ago, but the knowledge of hozv Laure loved it 
seemed to fill and thrill every pulse in her body. And 
presently she would go away to a new life, to a new 
country ! 

Telano came, and thrust his head in her lap, then up 
in her very neck. 

“No, I can’t tell even you, Telano, until, well — to- 
morrow morning maybe. If any one knew, it might all 
be spoiled. Birds in the air carry secrets, I have heard. 
Oh, what if some of them listened to Laure !” 

She turned pale with affright, and glanced about sus- 
piciously. 

“Whatever did Laure Gorgas have to talk about so 
long?” asked Barbe when Sylvie came in. 

“Fll tell you to-morrow,” said the child. “I just want 
to think it over and over.” 

“She is almost through with her novitiate, isn’t she?” 

“Yes, I believe so,” was the rather vague reply. 

“Did she want you to come down to the convent?” 

“Oh, no.” 

Barbe felt relieved. 

“Jaques,” Sylvie said, as it was growing dusk, “walk 
a little ways down the road with me.” 

“Why, what for?” 

“To meet Monsieur Norton.” 

“What a queer idea ! He will be here soon.” 

“I want to see him,” authoritatively. 

Jaques took her hand. He always kept in mind Mon- 
sieur de Brienne’s charge. 

The young man came along with a swinging step. 
“Hello !” he exclaimed, in his forcible English. 


291 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Will you go down to the Convent of the Ursulines, 
and inquire if Laure Gorgas came back?” 

“Came back — from where ?” in astonishment. 

“That is what I want to know, Monsieur. You need 
not ask any other question. And — huiry, please.” 

“Well, this is queer, little lady.” 

“Angelique won’t mind,” she said, consolingly. Then 
she turned Jaques about. “It is queer, Sylvie. What 
do you mean?” he asked. 

Sylvie laughed wilfully. 

In a little more than half an hour Norton returned. 
Barbe and the two girls were in the gallery. 

“What do you think, ma mie, Sylvie,” he began. 
“Laure Gorgas and one of the Sisters went down to the 
levee to take a child belonging to the mate of The 
Guardian, who has been at the convent nearly two years. 
And as they came off the gang-plank the Sister took 
some one’s arm, and she did not see that it was not 
Laure’s. She watched after the boat had pulled out, but 
no Laure came. And in her room on the pillow they 
found a slip of paper, saying that she had gone away for 
good. I suppose we would say she had eloped. Well, 
I can’t imagine a nun’s life would be very exciting.” 

“What a shocking thing! Sylvie, did you know about 
it? If this is the sort of training the nuns get — to deceive, 
to go off no one knows where — what a wretch! Was 
that what she talked about all the morning?” 

Sylvie came and put her arms about Barbe’s neck in 
a pleading, caressing fashion. 

“You must not call her that,” she said, with sweet 
gravity. “She loved the little baby so much, and the 
baby’s father wanted her to be its mother. And Laure 
had no one to love her ; no one at all, for Mere Milhet did 
not really care, you know, or she would have wanted 


292 


LAURE. 


Laure to live with her always, and not put her in a con- 
vent. Think of having no one at all !” 

Sylvie gave a little sighing sob. 

“There, there! Well, I hope it will all be as she be- 
lieves. But it’s queer she should come and tell you.” 

“Why, you have had part in quite a romance,” laughed 
Roger Norton. “Poor girl, I hope all will go right with 
her.” He and Barbe exchanged glances • they knew how 
many wrongs there were in the world. 

“Of course, it will go right,” declared Sylvie, confi- 
dently. 

It was true that a little love on Mere Milhet’s part 
might have transformed Laure into a grateful daughter. 
But Mere Milhet was proud of her ancestry, and no one 
could tell about this waif. Already the poor whites 
were falling below the level of the slaves, unless some 
fortunate circumstance drew them out of the slough. 
Beauty might, but it was a dangerous inheritance. A 
man with energy could make a position for himself, but 
for a poor and friendless young girl there was the re- 
spectability of the convent or the ostracism of the other 
course. 

Mere Milhet was indignant, and the good Sisters were 
shocked. Sylvie held on to her faith, and was one day 
rewarded by a letter. She was not critical as to the 
spelling, but who could always be correct amid such 
a jargon as language was getting to be? 

They had reached Baltimore, and she had been married 
by a priest of her own Church. There was a pretty house 
and garden, only three rooms, but, oh, so delightful! 
And now Monsieur Clark was going only from Baltimore 
to New York, and would be home frequently. He was 
delighted with her housekeeping, and loved her very 
fondly. The baby was well and so cunning, and Laure 

293 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


was brimming over with happiness. She was trying to 
be good every moment, in very gratitude. And she never 
said things any more that were not quite true, for Mon- 
sieur Clark was very honest and upright and tender, and 
she wanted to please him in every respect. 

There were letters, too, from Cousin Hugh. Paris 
was full of excitement and glory. The First Consul had 
been proclaimed Emperor, and that was the end of the 
republic and consulate. There was no grand atmosphere 
of liberty and equal rights, except in the New World. 
He should be prouder than ever to be an American citizen 
on his return. His stay might be longer than he thought, 
for everything was in disorder. All the countries ap- 
peared to be at war with one another, and the Corsican 
seemed likely to conquer half of Europe, for his ambitions 
were boundless. Sylvie must write to him and tell him 
how the great garden looked; and if Telano was well, 
what she was learning, and if she had any new friends. 

“Oh, I wish he would come back,” she sighed. 

Roger Norton wished it as well. It was very pleasant 
to be haunting the old house, to walk in the garden, to 
read aloud and watch Angel’s kindling eyes, to feel that 
she was capable of grasping some of the higher and finer 
truths of life. For he, like the young governor, was 
puzzled at many characteristics of the people who were 
to make the new town. “We must be initiated into the 
sacred duties of freemen and the practices of liberty,” 
said M. Poydras, who was a man beyond his time. Loy- 
alty comprehended obedience to laws, in his estimation; 
but one of the tremendous sins of the time was smuggling, 
another slave-stealing. Even the dames one met at the 
balls or dinners rehearsed with triumph some daring 
exploit of an ancestor. The tangled waterways of the 
southern coast, Grande Terre at the entrance of Barataria 


294 


LAURE. 


Bay, the bayous of La Fourche and Terre Bonne were 
full of hiding-places for pirates and smugglers, called 
privateers by courtesy. Many a wild romance celebrates 
the lives of the brothers Lafitte and the captains of mar- 
vellous deeds, Dominique You and Belouche. 

It was hard work making headway against Spanish 
beliefs and civilizations; for it was not to be a French or 
Spanish province, but an American State when it should 
reach an adequate population. There would have to be 
pioneers in the moral as well -as the material sense. And 
even then there was a curious misgiving about slavery. 
On this point Norton was glad his betrothed agreed with 
him. Barbe was horrified with the system, and yet she 
felt most of the slaves were more comfortable than if left 
to themselves. That would precipitate anarchy at once. 
And there must be some one to work. 

There was another embarrassment in a social point of 
view. This was a long engagement, a matter that was 
little in favor among the best classes. But he could not 
well hurry Angelique away from her home, and the other 
alternative was rather awkward. 

As for Gervaise, he was much comforted by Hortense. 
And although she seemed less coquettish than Zenobie, 
and very frank and innocent in her girlish ardor, she 
did some credit to Aunt Melanie’s training. She was not 
in love with Gervaise, for, although he came of “good 
family,” he was poor. Hugh de Brienne was alive, and 
possessor of all the remaining estates. And so when 
a certain Alphonse Mazant, possessing a large plantation 
on Lake Maurepas and various other properties, began 
to be seriously devoted to Aunt Melanie, she wondered 
whether it was wise to go further and, perhaps, fare 
worse. Then it would be a great delight to her to be 
married before Zenobie. 


295 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


But Zenobie was not passed by. A young Spaniard, 
whose family had made a fortune in privateering, but 
who was not really admired by Madame, and a much 
older man, well-to-do and a widower, besought her hand. 

“I don’t want to marry an old man,” she said, pet- 
tishly. “And I don’t like the Spanish. They are so 
jealous and arbitrary. Papa, there are delightful French 
people. And Claire is so happy.” 

So both lovers were dismissed. Zenobie was rather 
piqued that Gervaise should have so taken her at her 
word and transferred his visits to Hortense. She did not 
know how sharp a lookout Aunt Melanie kept, and that 
Henri was a great source of attraction as well, since they 
were both studying the new order of civil government. 
She was quite cool to Hortense, who always managed to 
say some teasing things under a great show of innocent 
sweetness. 

One evening, when gay groups were wandering down 
along the river banks, where willow and china trees and 
sedgy blossoms sent trailing shadows over the river, 
Madame Lavalette and her daughter paused to ask if 
anything had been heard of that poor misguided girl who 
had fled from the convent, and was really pleased to learn 
that she was lawfully married and well settled. 

“And she wrote Sylvie a very nice letter,” answered 
Gervaise. Then he glanced up at Zenobie. 

“Is it true that Hortense is to be betrothed? Oh, you 
needn’t both neglect me,” with some resentment. 

“Yes, to Monsieur Mazant. I only heard it an hour 
ago. I was quite surprised.” 

“Monsieur Mazant?” Then she looked at him out of 
eyes that had a sudden gleam of satisfaction in them. 

“Oh, you did not think ” 

“How very warm it is !” said Zenobie, flirting her fan. 

296 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


CHAPTER XXL 

LOVERS AND LOVERS. 

“Thou shoulcTst have a husband by this time, Mam’- 
selle,” said Monsieur Poydras. “Thy sister is fulfilling 
her destiny nobly, and is very happy.” 

“I am wilful,” Zenobie said, in a sweet, apologetic 
tone. “Those who would have me I do not want, and 
those ” 

“Nay, Mam’selle, thou hast too good sense to choose 
unwisely,” was the grave reply. 

She had been making an afternoon visit with her sister 
and brother-in-law. They had all been out to the cotton 
gin, and Eugene was still talking of the wonderful in- 
vention. 

“Monsieur Poydras, if a fine young man is poor, a girl 
may choose unwisely. If she despises the man, but takes 
him and the money, it is — wisdom.” 

“The money is a very good thing, but not all. I was 
a poor young man myself. So that is the way it stands, 
ManTselle. Thy father can give thee a good dowry.” 

He smiled encouragingly. 

“Ah, but if the young man will not speak because he is 
poor? And though papa admires him, and he is well- 
born and well-mannered, I think he would object. 
Mamma would not approve. And so I wait.” 

She sighed softly, delicately, and her eyes were down- 
cast. 

“And you love him, Mam’selle?” 

“It would hardly be maidenly to love until I was asked. 
But I could, and it would make me very happy.” 

297 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“I should like to know of the young man. Is he an 
American ?” 

“Oh, no; French. They fled from France some years 
ago. You have met his cousin, Mam’selle Saucier, who 
is betrothed to the American, and the pretty golden-haired 
Mam’selle Sylvie.” 

“Ah, ah,” and he nodded. “Yes, I have met him, 
Monsieur Aubreton. He is a fine young fellow, but of 
a different faith?” 

“He would not be if ” 

She blushed, and hung her head. 

“Well, we must see. There are plenty of chances for 
a young man of energy. And it is best for young people 
to marry before they are given over to other things. It 
is a great thing for people to be happy like your sister.” 

The others were coming up. Zenobie’s heart was all 
in a flutter. How had she dared be so frank? And she 
wondered more than ever why she should have cared 
for Gervaise Aubreton. There was something about him 
so different from most of the young men she met, the 
new, enthusiastic life. But, oh, how angry little Sylvie 
would be ! 

Sylvie said one Sunday morning, “I don’t see why you 
go to the cathedral, now that we have a chapel of our 
own.” 

There had been a small Protestant chapel built, now 
that Spain’s hand had been removed. 

“I like Pere Antoine. And the music. Henri and I 
walk down together,” returned Gervaise. 

She did not suspect Zenobie Lavalette any more. 

Hortense was delighted with her own wedding. Her 
gowns were the prettiest that could be had ; Aunt Mela- 
nie looked after that. And there were some jewels that 
had been her mother’s, some handsome gifts from her 
298 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


father. And it did her foolish little heart a great deal 
of good to think she should be married before Zenobie. 

“Zenobie is kind of stiff and grand, and some day she 
will have the gift of a comb and St. Catharine’s hair will 
be ready for her.” 

“But why?” queried Sylvie. 

“Oh, that is what unmarried women do,” and Hortense 
laughed. “Little one, it will soon be time for you to 
think of lovers.” 

“I am not going to have any.” 

“But you cannot make love to a crane all your life! 
And presently one begins to grow old.” 

It was a grand wedding, and Gervaise was one of the 
attendants. Just then some wonderful good fortune 
happened to Gervaise. Monsieur Poydras discussed his 
capabilities with Monsieur Norton, and proffered him 
a fine position. 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, gratefully, 
to Norton. “Of course, it was your influence.” 

“Why, not altogether. He had his eye on you. It is 
a chance out of a thousand. Before you are gray-haired 
you will be one of the solid men of the town, unless there 
come a fire or a pestilence or a deluge from the mighty 
river, or a general ruin.” 

Gervaise laughed gayly. Then he laid his case before 
M. Lavalette, who had always taken a very kindly interest 
in the young fellow. 

Madame Lavalette was not quite so buoyant. To be 
sure, he was cousin to a marquis, but even the Marquis 
de Marigny, elegant, aristocratic, witty, and charming, 
not infrequently laid aside his title. And as a part of 
this new United States, which she really did not admire, 
there would soon be no distinctions. 

Zenobie came down one day bent on charming every- 


299 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


body. She paid a pretty deference to Madame Champe, 
she had a dainty respect, like that of a younger sister, for 
Mam’selle Saucier, and to Sylvie she was irresistible. 
She petted the crane, who really was very amiable; she 
read Laure Gorgas’s letter, and was glad she was so 
happy. She was doing some beautiful needlework which 
she brought along, and she praised Sylvie’s English read- 
ing, though she could not understand half of it. The 
French verses delighted her. 

“Oh, what a wise little body you are!” she said, with 
a soft ripple of merriment. “You will soon be as learned 
as M. Poydras, and you are so young too.” 

“Now you are laughing at me.” 

“No. You are a charming little thing. And at first 
I had made up my mind not to like you at all. Laure 
Gorgas said so much about you. And Hortense was so 
extravagant.” 

“And I said I never would like you.” Sylvie looked 
up out of clear, laughing eyes. 

“I want you to like me very much,” and Zenobie’s tone 
had a sweet seriousness in it. “I want to be like an older 
sister to you. And when I have a home of my own you 
must come and spend days and days, just as you do with 
Claire.” 

“Oh, that will be delightful,” the child said, innocently. 

“And if I should marry and have a little girl, I should 
call her Sylvie. And if there were two, the next one 
should be Angelique.” 

“I wish I wasn’t too old to have dolls,” said Sylvie, 
irrelevantly. 

The next time she went up to Lavalette she found 
Felice had improved very much. Only there was no one 
just her age, and somehow she felt a lonely little girl 
with all the pleasures and all the beauty there was in the 
300 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


world. Every one had some person to love her supremely. 
Monsieur Norton adored Angel, and Angel loved him. 
He was to be her husband. The thought brought back 
Sylvie’s bitter grief when she had first learned that Ger- 
vaise could be only her friend; alas, that he cared to be 
nothing more ! Of course, it would have been very un- 
fortunate if he had — only — she was to be quite free from 
the dreadful complication. 

But down in the bottom of her heart she knew she did 
not love Gervaise as Angel loved M’sieu Norton. Why, 
sometimes she thought she liked him quite as well as 
Gervaise, who seemed to consider her still a little girl, 
and not capable of understanding reasons for incidents 
or actions. M’sieu Norton always explained things so 
beautifully. She used to lie in the hammock, and listen 
as he read aloud to Angel. One story interested her so 
much — it was about the wanderings of a man called 
Ulysses and all his curious adventures. Gervaise did not 
care much for poetry nowadays. Then there was “Tele- 
maque,” that she was reading in the French. 

And now Gervaise was going up to Lavalette continu- 
ally. 

“Oh, Angel, suppose Gervaise should want to marry 
Zenobie some day ?” she cried, suddenly, as she sat sewing 
one morning. 

“Well?” returned Angelique, softly. 

“I could not bear that; indeed, I could not.” 

“But if he loved her?” 

“He would have to be a Catholic.” 

“I suppose your friend, Laure’s husband, was not a 
Catholic?” 

Sylvie wondered about that. 

“Think how many of your splendid heroes were Catho- 
lics. De Tonti and La Salle and De Bienville and Galvez 


301 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


and many another. To be good and true and noble and 
self-sacrificing and loving belong to all religions. And 
if a hundred or so years ago we had remained Catholics, 
we should fraternize with them now. Most of France 
is Catholic. And it is the religion of the greater part of 
the province.” 

Sylvie opened her eyes very wide. 

'‘We learn to tolerate each other’s beliefs when we are 
truly Christian.” 

Yet Angelique gave a little sigh. She did not like 
this departure from a faith that had been signalized in 
martyrdom. Still, Gervaise was very much in love with 
Zenobie. Claire was making such an excellent wife and 
mother. She had thought at first that she could not love 
an American, and now she was looking forward hopefully 
to a long life with Roger Norton. 

Sylvie put up her sewing, and went down to the lake, 
where she wept a few sorrowful tears. For though 
Gervaise did not love her dearly, to give him to some one 
else was very hard. And she thought if it were any one 
but Zenobie ! Angelique had some delightful young lady 
friends. 

Then she had a new pleasure. Monsieur Norton 
brought her a guitar; and a sweet-voiced Creole woman, 
who had lost her husband, and who played at evening 
parties, came for a teacher. Why had no one thought of 
it before? And now the little girl was supremely happy. 
Tityrus, playing on his oaten stops in copses and by the 
water-side to the reeds and rushes, was not a whit hap- 
pier with his “tiptoe throng” than the little modern girl 
by her copse, where the birds stopped to listen, and often 
sent back a saucy, merry lilt. 

Hugh de Brienne sent a Godspeed to his young cousin, 
who had written him with all the enthusiasm of a young 
302 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


lover, and gave consent as the head of the house. But 
Sylvie would not go to the betrothal. 

“So you mean never to forgive me?” said Gervaise, 
upbraidingly. “I did the best I could through all that 
critical time. And, Sylvie, you will always be dear to 
me. Zenobie is ready to love you, and it seems unkind 
to hold out so long” — “to be so obstinate” he would 
rather have said. 

“I can’t go.” There was a pitiful dreariness in her 
tone. “I will come and see you married, and then I will 
try to love Zenobie, but I can’t now.” 

“Do you really suppose she cared so much for me?” 
Gervaise asked Angel, in a conscience-stricken fashion. 
“Ought I to have waited until she was older, and married 
her? Though I could never love any one as I love 
Zenobie.” 

“Oh, no, no. It is unfortunate that Sylvie has been 
so much with grown people and so little with children. 
In two or three years we will have her blooming out into 
girlhood. Why,” and Angelique blushed while an ador- 
able softness made her eyes luminous, “as a little girl 
I adored Hugh, but now I am in love and realize the 
difference.” 

Both laughed softly. 

“Let her take her own way and her own time.” 

So Angelique and Roger went to the betrothal, which 
was very delightful. And Monsieur Poydras sent the 
fiancee a gift “from his full heart,” he wrote. There was 
nothing he so much liked as seeing young people happy. 

Long afterward, when M. Poydras had done a good 
deal in the way of serving his State, for that it became in 
1812, he died as he had lived, nobly, calmly. There were 
many generous benefactions in his will, though he did 
not neglect his few remaining relatives. One of the most 

303 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


beautiful and poetic was the sum of $30,000 to be set 
aside for each of the parishes, Pointe Coupee and West 
Baton Rouge, the interest to be devoted yearly to young 
girls without fortunes who had married during the year. 
And Gervaise Aubreton was always proud to know he 
owed prosperity and happiness in part to such a grand 
and generous heart. 

They had to wait quite a while for the wedding, how- 
ever. One thing and another prevented Hugh from 
returning. There was a good deal of difficulty in claiming 
the De Chatilly estates, and only a husband could have 
succeeded under the French law. As for his own, there 
was not so much left of that, but he would be able to give 
Angelique a little dowry ; and as for himself, there were 
chances in the New World, and he was not afraid. 

But Gervaise could not be married and leave the house- 
hold without any male relative. However, Zenobie took it 
very sweetly and cheerfully, for was not Angelique in 
the same position? True, Hugh had sent word to her 
not to keep Roger waiting, and sent her a legal consent 
and the amount of her dowry. 

“It is very generous and thoughtful in him,” said 
Angelique, “but I shall wait until his return. And I 
think my dowry comes out of his own small estate, which 
is hardly fair.” 

Roger took the paper, read it carefully, and then delib- 
erately tore it in little strips. 

“There will be no dowry,” he said, smilingly. “And 
there will be no marriage until he is here to give me my 
bride.” 

“Oh, Roger !” she cried in a sweet, exultant tone. And 
though girls were chary of caresses in those days, perhaps 
Angelique had been spoiled a little by American fashions 


304 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 

— she put her soft, fair arms about his neck, and kissed 
him. 

Zenobie came down after the betrothal, and was so 
especially winsome that Sylvie had hard work to resist 
her. 

“Of course, I shall like you presently,” she said, in her 
quaint, distant fashion. “But I can’t be hurried.” 

“You have liked me all along. And though I haven’t 
made as much fuss as Hortense, and called you all sorts 
of endearing names, I do care a great deal for you. You 
are to be a dear little sister to both of us. I can’t bear 
to think I shall make any disturbance.” 

“But you will not,” said Sylvie. 

“Claire is fond of Eugene’s sisters, and is never jealous 
of them. And I shall not be.” 

“Oh, I could stay away if you were,” Sylvie returned, 
provokingly. “I shall stay at home a great deal, anyhow. 
Barbe will be so lonesome. And I have my guitar.” 

“I shall come to see you then.” 

There was a great deal of interest in the town. A 
constitution was being formed, there was a great dispute 
between Father Antoine and the Vicar-General about some 
old religious privileges, and another matter that nearly 
rent the young interest, where the bonds of union were 
still slender and but illy understood. The old scheme of 
an independent country was revived, and Wilkinson again 
coquetted with both sides. Aaron Burr came down the 
Mississippi “in an elegant barge” with letters from 
Wilkinson to the Governor and others, and was most 
graciously received. A banquet was given in his honor 
and various courtesies showered upon him. Governor 
Claiborne was ill at ease. A body of Spaniards from 
Pensacola on their way to Baton Rouge asked permission 
305 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 

to pass through the city, which was refused; and then 
came the startling news that Colonel Burr had arrived 
at a point near Natchez with an expedition bent on con- 
quest. All the disaffection of New Orleans was expected 
to burst out in a blaze. 

But the people of New Orleans, the Creoles mostly, had 
accepted the American government, and now stood loyally 
by it. Burr was arrested at Natchez, and escaped; the 
expedition was dispersed. History and romance have 
made much of this startling interest in which Herman 
Blennerhassett and his devoted wife, Margaret, Burr and 
his lovely daughter, Theodosia, figured. Wilkinson be- 
trayed Burr’s plans to the general government, and he 
was arrested for treason. Again the plan had failed. 

Nearly two years had elapsed before Hugh de Brienne’s 
return. Ocean travel was in the worst possible condition. 
England proclaimed herself mistress of the seas. Priva- 
teers scoured every ocean route, and were especially bad 
in the Gulf. There was so much harbor for them in the 
numerous islands and bayous. 

For all that he came in safely, and was met by his two 
friends, Gervaise Anbreton and Roger Norton. The 
latter was at the period of young manhood when the years 
bring little change; but Gervaise betrayed immeasurable 
improvement, having been incited thereto by both love 
and ambition. 

'‘All the compliments are not due to me,” laughed 
Gervaise, flushing boyishly. “Do you ever consult a 
mirror, Cousin Hugh? For you look five years younger 
than when you went away, and you have grown positively 
handsome.” 

Hugh smiled. “I have not been roughing it in pioneer 
life, but accepting the luxuries of higher civilization. 
Paris is wonderful under its new Emperor, who is cer- 
306 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


tainly a remarkable man. But through all these months 
of waiting America has held my heart and its affection. 
There is trouble enough in store for her, there are many 
governments that would be glad to throttle her aspiring 
liberty, and are ready to predict her downfall. But I feel 
more than ever assured that she will weather the gale and 
keep to clear sailing. It is high time I returned, however, 
since neither of you heeded my request.” 

“We shall be glad to defer to your lightest wishes 
now,” returned Norton, with cordial frankness. 

“It was very generous in you, if Gervaise did grow 
impatient.” 

“Oh, I am more sensible. I know my duty.” 

“And now we shall soon have things settled.” 

“But what changes already !” Hugh exclaimed, as they 
were picking their way out, for it seemed as if the streets 
were in a worse condition than ever with the increased 
traffic. “And your Spanish-French have not rebelled? 
Spain has been threatening.” 

“Oh, we have come near several emeutes. No, I think 
the people have accepted frankly. Governor Claiborne 
has had trouble and perplexity on every side, but I believe 
he will succeed. The Spanish agents, the quarrelsome 
Morales, and Caso Calvo have been expelled ; our magnifi- 
cent idea of a middle empire has again come to nought; 
this time received its quietus, I think.” 

Roger laughed, and glanced meaningly at De Brienne. 
For once they had been caught by the project. 

“They are watching us closely on the other side, and 
predict all sorts of license from self-government. But — 
what was this ?” 

“It will be hard to get at the real story. There are 
always adventurers ready to take up any cause. Burr, 
no doubt, was at the head. How large a hand Wilkinson 


307 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


had in it no one will quite know, but in the end he was 
loyal to the Governor. And the Creoles are loyal too. 
I think we shall have no trouble with them, while they 
do not admire us;” and a convincing smile crossed the 
fine, strong face. “They will always have a sentimental 
love for France ; but this casting them off a second time, 
selling them, rankles deep. There are many fine citizens' 
among them. And you can see that New Orleans is the 
key to the Western traffic.” 

“It would have made a magnificent empire, if you 
choose to call it that; but left the whole country largely 
at the mercy of its foes. It is much better this way. We 
must make ourselves respected abroad, perhaps feared. 
There is a great work before the people of these United 
States.” 

As they walked on, many familiar sights met his gaze 
amid the improvements. The broken roof lines, the odd 
angles and gables, the blackened roofs with patches of 
moss and lichen, the narrow doorways on the lower floor, 
and the balconies above full of richest bloom. It was 
not a French city in the sense that Paris was. There 
were costumes of almost every description, complexions 
of almost every hue, and, as usual, a conglomeration of 
languages. Sailors, rough boatmen, slaves, and the 
stately Creole masters passed like visions. And the women 
struck him as being less artificial, as if there was some 
rare richness and luxuriance that partook of the superb 
redundance of foliage and flower. Had it softened the 
dark eyes and made them more fascinating, brought a 
richer color to the cheek, a gayety to the smile ? Ah, yes, 
this was the country for one to live in and enjoy life! 

Surely he had no need to question his welcome. Barbe 
gave him a motherly greeting, and tears shone in her 
308 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


honest, relieved eyes, that of late had indicated that her 
burden had not been a light one. Angelique greeted him 
with sisterly cordiality, but Sylvie stood a little shy and 
strange. 

“But you are so much stouter, Monsieur,” exclaimed 
Barbe. “And it agrees well with you. There is an 
air ” 

“Do not tell him it is the atmosphere of royalty, or we 
shall have Monsieur le Marquis putting on airs. See 
how soon Paris outgrew equality and the once delightful 
‘citizen’! We are trying to outgrow the other.” 

“But you have changed wonderfully, Monsieur,” said 
Angelique. “You resemble the portrait of your father 
in the old chateau.” 

“I have brought some of the family heirlooms with me. 
The people of St. Eudor had taken possession of Brienne ; 
and that, perhaps, saved it from destruction. We came 
to an amicable arrangement — perhaps it is as well for 
them to have it. So I packed up a few things that were 
sacred to me. And now I hardly see how Father Gilbert 
gave up the agreement so readily; but he had been so 
confident of my death that it took him utterly by surprise, 
and for a moment he lost his astuteness — a lucky moment 
for me,” and Hugh smiled. 

There were so many explanations to make that they sat 
out in the court in the starlight until nearly midnight. 

“Thou hast been very brave and heroic,” Hugh said 
to Angel. “I thank thee for thy patience. I should have 
been not a little sorry had any other hand than mine given 
thee away.” 

“I think it has been harder for Gervaise, for a man is 
naturally more impatient,” she returned, smilingly, rais- 
ing her sweet eyes to his. 

309 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“What, then, about Roger?” 

Angelique colored scarlet. “But he is older. He has 
waited for many things.” 

“We must see about weddings at once.” 

Hugh de Brienne’s return created not a little stir. 
Even then, when titles were much more plenty, there was 
a certain respect paid to them. And he was the acknowl- 
edged head of the family. 

He called upon Monsieur Lavalette at once, and speedy 
arrangements were made. Madame Lavalette received 
him with delight, and Zenobie was certainly very charm- 
ing; so much so that Sylvie felt a little jealous, for now 
she was beginning to like Cousin Hugh extremely. 

So there was a grand wedding at the cathedral, even 
the Governor and several of his aides being present. For 
Governor Claiborne was doing his best to study the per- 
plexing Creole character, so unlike the Virginian French 
he had known. And a beautiful couple they were in their 
youth and sweetness. Sylvie was one of the maids. She 
had resisted Angelique’s persuasion, but she yielded to 
Cousin Hugh, who did not seem at all annoyed at Ger- 
vaise taking up his wife’s religious faith. 

After this there was a quiet wedding in the old house ; 
but Sylvie felt that it should have been in a grand church, 
the bride was so lovely. Roger Norton proved inflexible 
on the subject of a dowry, but Hugh made Angelique 
accept some exquisite jewels that were handed down as 
heirlooms for generations afterward. 

Roger had his house furnished for his bride, and they 
set up housekeeping. Zenobie and Gervaise had been 
well provided for, and Hugh out of his shrunken for- 
tunes had been very generous. He did not think he would 
be likely to marry, but he begged Barbe and Jaques to go 
on as usual, since Sylvie needed the care and companion- 
310 


LOVERS AND LOVERS. 


ship. Angelique had proposed taking her; she would 
soon be a young lady and need society. 

“I do not want to go away from this dear old house 
and garden,” she declared, vehemently. “Cousin Hugh, 
you said I had some fortune ; would it be enough to buy 
it? And then we might live here always. I love Ange- 
lique, but she has Roger ” 

He studied her a moment or two. She had grown 
considerably taller, though she was still petite; but she 
had a dignified manner that in some moods made her 
seem much larger and quite impressive. The eyes held 
their exquisite blue ; he understood how, in years to come, 
they might prove a man’s undoing when she looked at 
him with that fearless, innocent sweetness. Her hair was 
still golden, and the little tendrils about her forehead 
seemed playing hide-and-seek with the pink and pearl of 
her complexion. There was an enchanting half reserve, 
half frankness, about her that made the little moods and 
tempers very captivating. 

“The house?” he repeated, in a dreamy sort of way. 
“Why, Sylvie, I had thought of that myself. I am not 
rich, to be sure, but I am tired of rambling about. This 
charming old house and garden suits me. I could grow 
old here without any regret. And I shall be a citizen of 
this grand new country always. I like this province, 
because it is French and because it is so beautiful and 
full of romance. And from the upper windows one can 
catch glances of the mighty river, and imagine De Soto 
coming down. One could build a sort of tower at one 
end, and make some improvements ” 

“But I want the house. And then Barbe and Jaques 
can stay here always with me,” she interrupted, holding 
herself up with a graceful importance. 

“And I ” 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


“Well, you could stay. Did you not tell Barbe that 
you were to be my guardian? Oh, you could build the 
tower and have your books and pictures and queer things, 
and it would not make any difference. I want something 
of my very own. Gervaise and Angelique have gone, 
and I can never have them again.” Her voice fell to a 
pitiful pathos. “And some day you may marry like the 
others ” 

“No, I shall not marry. That was why I wanted the 
house. But you may. You know, Sylvie, I told you that 
you were quite free from that blunder that ma mere 
thought for the best, and about which you had no choice.” 

“But I was very fond of Gervaise then,” she commented, 
with lingering sadness. 

Had she really loved the bright, attractive young fellow 
more than any one dreamed? 

“And you are an heiress.” 

“An heiress means having plenty of money, does it 
not ? Then,” with charming wilfulness, “if I could marry 
whoever I liked, why could I not have a pretty old home 
if I liked that better?” 

She stood before him the triumphant impersonation of 
incontrovertible logic. 

“Why, you could, of course. I shall have to find invest- 
ments for your money.” 

“Then buy this house first.” 

“What if I want it myself ?” 

Her bosom swelled. Her eyes had a mistiness that 
made them enchanting. 

“Can’t I have anything at all that I want ? Then what 
is the use of being an heiress or anybody? The slaves 
have to do just what another person tells them, and ” 

She gave a long sigh like a sob. Her utter indifference 
to his desires amused him, and yet he felt a little pro- 
voked. 


312 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 

“But if you should want to turn me out some day, when 
I have grown old and queer ?” 

“Angel says you grow younger all the time. And if 
you keep going back Could people really go back?” 

“Why, then I shall be quite a boy.” 

“I think I like you best as you are. And you really are 
not ugly any more. You have a dimple in your chin, and 
the wrinkles have gone out of your cheeks. Yes, stay 
just as you are.” 

“And you will let me have the house?” 

“No, no, no!” She ran away, laughing. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 

There was no doubt but New Orleans had a great 
future before it. Plantations were enlarged. Cotton and 
sugar-cane spread out into what had been considered 
waste lands. It seemed as if one could not go amiss in 
investments. But plantations required slaves, and Hugh 
de Brienne was opposed to trafficking in them. Then 
there were stores and houses and warehouses to build. 
Oh, there were plenty of ways for money. He was care- 
ful and very, very honest ; and he would not see his little 
ward defrauded of a penny. 

But it was rather perplexing and amusing to see how 
persistently Sylvie recurred to her idea about the house. 

“Jaques made the little lake on purpose for me, and 
he has widened the stream, and bought the white 
pelicans for me. They are so fond of this shaded secret 
313 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


place. And he set out new oleanders to extend the walk 
as you see. And here is a jasmine bower, where I come 
and play on my guitar sometimes and read verses. Have 
you any books of verses? And one day he was going to 
cut down those two great pine-trees, because they were 
so old, and I would not let him. And if the place is mine, 
I can do as I like with it all. But you may build the 
tower. I should like that.” 

Monsieur Lavalette agreed at length to sell the place 
and the fifty or more acres stretching out to the north 
and west, now a tangle of figs and wild oranges. Cultiva- 
tion would make it profitable. He wanted to build some 
warehouses down on the levee that was being reclaimed. 

De Brienne considered some time before he could 
actually decide to vest the ownership in Sylvie, but he 
saw that it would be a heartbreaking disappointment. After 
all, when Sylvie came to have a husband whose interests 
would be elsewhere, she would relinquish it easily, no 
doubt. He had never been especially fond of Brienne, 
but this spot went to his heart. 

So he made Sylvie delightfully happy presently. Then 
they planned the addition. It was to have two large 
rooms and a tower above the second story. These would 
be Cousin Hugh’s. 

“And the tower shall have plenty of windows and a 
balcony where we can look at the stars. I am sure I 
never saw them so beautiful as they are here, though 
I have watched them at night in the northern countries, 
when they seemed fairly to sparkle with frost. And 
I slept on a bed of pine boughs with a buffalo skin 
over me.” 

“Oh, tell me all about it!” 

She had an insatiable love for adventures. All the 
country up above became a land of romance to her, and 


3i4 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. . 


was peopled with heroes. The sad and bloody experiences 
he kept back, but there was enough to interest a little 
girl without detailing the cruelties. He was very fond 
of watching her eager eyes, glowing, dilating, smiling, 
and glancing up with a sweet, innocent pride. 

She was so fresh and bright and piquant, unfolding 
like a flower on a summer morning. Her pretty rosy lips 
could smile bewitchingly and ripple in saucy speech, and 
now Sylvie was no longer afraid of him. He was like 
a father, but she had never known any fatherly love. She 
had said to Barbe : 

“Barbe, what is a guardian, and what does he have 
to do?” 

“Why, he takes care of your money, invests it so that 
it shall not get wasted or lost, and provides you with 
a home if you have none. When you come to have 
a lover he will see that the young man is a proper person, 
and arrange about marriage settlements ” 

“But I do not mean to be married. And the house is 
mine ” 

“All young people have guardians until they come of 
age. That is twenty-one in this country. I do not know 
about women ” looking puzzled. 

“Well,” said Sylvie, deliberately, “I do not think I 
mind having a guardian.” 

The guardian found having a ward very charming. 
She was merry as a mocking-bird sometimes ; she played 
on her guitar, she sang, she tried one power after an- 
other, she fed her pets, she ordered Jaques with such 
a pretty air of authority that she seemed like a little 
queen. It was delightful to wander about with Cousin 
Hugh and listen to the beautiful legends he could tell. 
She peopled her new world with nymphs and gods turned 
into flowers, and tales of sunny Greece, though she was 
3i5 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


never quite sure whether it was a real country or not. 
She was never lonely any more. 

Among his books he unearthed some odd volumes of 
poetry, two or three in English, better adapted to a young 
girl’s understanding than the French verses. She never 
wearied of them. 

“Why do not women write some of these beautiful 
verses?” she queried one day. 

“Why, I do not know. They have written a few; 
I suppose there are many other things for them to do.” 

“But I haven’t much to do. And I can feel all in here 
just like a strain of music.” 

She placed her small hand on her heart. 

Ah, what a charming child she was! And he could 
not understand how Gervaise could have let her go, when 
he had known her all these years. To be sure, Zenobie 
was brilliant, and they were a merry young couple, laugh- 
ing, dancing, making friends, and were fain to draw 
Sylvie in their circle. For New Orleans had blossomed 
out into the gayety of a truly French city; it had not yet 
been Americanized. 

Sometimes Barbe felt quite troubled. For though she 
so often said “child” to Sylvie, and her grave guardian 
called her “little one,” she was outgrowing both. Was it 
right for her to wander about so, to sit for hours in some 
of the delightful nooks, reading, chatting, laughing, with 
no chaperon? Barbe was a good deal engrossed with 
household cares, for both her trusty servants had been 
replaced by others less to her liking. Sylvie had a maid 
also, whose deft fingers could fashion frocks and make 
hats that were most bewitching. But no one could be 
in two places at the same time. 

And then the new part was finished and furnished. 

316 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 


The lower room was a kind of office and library, and 
Sylvie went wild over it. 

‘‘Why, it is something like that at Pointe Coupee,” she 
cried, delightedly. 

They made visits up to Pointe Coupee. M. Poydras was 
much in the councils of the new government, and admired 
Monsieur Norton’s good sense and patience and his 
thorough understanding of the difficulties in the way. 
Angelique was sisterly and tender and Sylvie’s favorite, 
though Zenobie was always begging her to come, or to 
join some pleasure party. And Hortense was quite as 
eager. 

“You have always liked her so much,” she said to 
Henri. “You ought not let such an heiress slip through 
your fingers.” 

“But you see it is so hard to have any sentiment with 
her. She is not thinking of lovers. And although M. de 
Brienne seems indifferent, he watches very closely.” 

“But Sylvie is full fifteen.” 

Yes, she was fifteen and radiant with the sweetness 
of youth. Other people were finding it out. 

“The balls are very delightful,” Sylvie said, with a yawn 
one morning, “and I love to dance. But I couldn’t be 
gay all the time like Zenobie. It tires me out. I am not 
going anywhere for a whole week. Cousin Hugh, you 
must decline everything.” 

“But the invitations are not sent to me.” 

“Still, if you are my guardian ” 

“But I do not want to be a tyrant.” 

“Oh, if you were a tyrant, I should rebel !” laughingly. 
“Do you not care, really? And suppose I get pale and 
have headaches, and my eyes grow dull, and — my hair 
turns gray ” she could think of nothing else. 

3i7 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


He laughed. There was not much prospect of it in 
those lovely eyes and pearly complexion. 

“Mam’selle, you are not to dissipate for a whole week. 
You are to go to bed at nine ” 

“Oh, no, ten. You will read to Barbe and me ” 

“Nine, I said, Mam’selle.” 

“Now we will see when evening comes.” 

And she sat demurely with Barbe’s arm about her 
shoulder, Barbe nodding presently, for the finely modu- 
lated voice always soothed her to a half sleep. The clock 
struck nine, but he was at such an interesting point that 
he went on. It was so everywhere. He always gave in, 
but her wants were so innocent and simple they could 
not in reason be denied. She had so many pretty whims ; 
and some day she would go away from the old house, 
and, oh, how lonely it would be! He could see that 
admirers were casting longing eyes. 

Meanwhile, many things were happening. One time, 
in 1812, it was “a strange sky-blue vessel” appeared at 
the mouth of the Mississippi. It was the first steam vessel 
seen, and curiosity and comment ran high. It was to be 
the precursor of commercial greatness, and the revolution 
of the carrying trade. There was war in the air and on 
the seas as well. New Orleans went at her pirates that 
had long infested the Gulf, while the whole country rose 
against England and her boasted right of search. 

But people were full of pleasure and prosperous. There 
was marrying and giving in marriage. Lovers began to 
present their desires to Monsieur de Brienne, and more 
than one admirable young fellow bespoke Madame Nor- 
ton’s kind offices. 

“Surely, Sylvie, you are not going to allow that old 
foolishness to interfere with your future?” said Ange- 
318 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 


lique, a little sharply. “Why, you are making quite a 
recluse of yourself, and so young and fond of pleasure 
as you are.” 

“Foolishness! Oh, Angel, you don't mean that old 
fancy of my childhood! Why, it died long ago. Or, 
rather, I know now just what it was. I love Gervaise 
as much as ever, and Zenobie more than I ever thought 
I could. She is just the wife for him. They are young 
and gay and full of pleasure, but I do not want their life. 
You have many other things to occupy you. Are you 
not happy in them?” 

It was true. She could not give herself up to frivolity 
with such a husband as Roger Norton. 

But where would Sylvie ever find such a man? she 
wondered with true wifely appreciation. Then a curious 
consciousness dawned on her. Sylvie Perrier was still 
a child in some ways, in others a lovely, intelligent 
woman, different from the charming Creole women, 
nearer the old stock, perhaps, with strength and courage 
and understanding. Oh, what if ” 

“Why do you look at me so, Angel. You startle me.” 

Angelique clasped her to her heart. “Dear,” she cried 
in a little tremble, “wait until you love some one truly, 
fervently — some one to whom you can gladly give your 
whole soul, your whole life.” 

Sylvie blushed scarlet. “Yes, I shall wait,” she 
answered. “That is the way I want to love.” 

War did not come very near them at first, after they 
had conquered the enemy at their own door. Many a wild 
romance has been written about those heroes of the Gulf 
and their marvellous exploits and escapes. But the nest 
at Grande Terre, with its stores, the seven cruisers of 
Lafitte, and the three armed schooners, were captured, 
and none too soon. For now there came an alarm. 


3i9 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


Twelve thousand British troops had sailed for Louisiana, 
and they were to strike at New Orleans. 

The Creek War had developed a genius in the intrepid 
young Andrew Jackson, who came now to its defence. 
There was poor Fort St. Philip on the river, the Fort 
Petites Coquilles on the Rigolettes, Fort St. John, and 
some old works of twenty years agone. Generals Ross 
and Patterson came down the river with their meagre 
army. There were the brave Tennesseans under Generals 
Coffee and Carrol. 

If there had been a wavering doubt about the Creole 
population, it was settled now. Pleasure-loving as they 
were, and strenuously as they had opposed many things 
in the new administration, they were no longer French 
or Spanish or San Domingans, but Americans. 

To John Lafitte belongs much credit in this emergency. 
He came forward and offered his skilled artillerists, en- 
couraged by Governor Claiborne. What a meeting it 
must have been between him and General Jackson in the 
old Cabildo, when old sins were forgiven, and conqueror 
and conquered were to fight side by side ! The enthusiasm 
was grand, though it was said “they prepared as for 
a party of pleasure.” 

Hugh de Brienne had been very busy for two days. 
There was no loitering in the garden, no reading of de- 
lightful verse. He sat at his desk, and wrote; he sealed 
and directed packets, he gave instructions to Jaques and 
Barbe, and then ran up to the balcony, but Sylvie was 
not there. 

“Sylvie,” he said, gently; “Sylvie?” 

She came out in some soft white wrap — it was a little 
cool. She had been crying, and yet her eyes looked only 
like azure lakes in their delicate mistiness. 

“Oh, you are going!” she exclaimed. 

320 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 


“Yes, I must go. It is for the defence of all we hold 
most dear, homes ” 

“My home,” she cried. “And for my defence.” 

He bowed his head. 

He had thought more than once of some attractive 
young lover to whom he should give consent, of the 
wishes that would go with it, and, oh, the pang! For 
now Sylvie had so twined herself about his life it would 
be tearing up the trellis to unclasp the tendrils. Her 
moods of gravity were so fascinating that they made him 
forget the years between, their tastes were so much in 
unison, and her gayety was like the shining of the sun. 
He had put off the evil day, he had counted on years 
together in the old house before there was any change. 
Ah, he should want all the years of her sweet young life, 
of her blooming middle age, of her ripe, delightful after- 
years ! It all went over him like a flash. 

“If you were not brave, I should like you less,” she 
said, proudly. “It is very hard, and yet I could not bid 
you stay. And you will come back. I feel it in every 
pulse, in every thought.” 

“Oh, thank you a thousand times!” What would he 
return to? Such a welcome as would wring his heart 
anew? 

“And if I should not, little Sylvie, everything is ar- 
ranged so that you will have no trouble. For the house 
is yours, you know, and there is plenty ” 

“Oh, oh ! What should I want of anything if you were 
gone !” she cried in a passion of anguish. “I should want 
to die too. Angelique and Gervaise might have it all. 
I should pine away in some of the nooks we have loved 
so well. If you are not coming back, I shall not let 
you go.” 

She was in his arms then, and her golden head lay on 


321 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


his breast. The little sob that shook her pierced his very 
heart. 

“Sylvie, Sylvie, this is love such as a man feels for the 
woman he wants to take into his keeping forever. When 
it first came I cannot tell, but it has been in my heart 
a long time. I am a poor man, and you are rich ; I am 
so much older, and your life is just unfolding, you are 
beautiful — it is not fair ” 

“The fortune you won for me, and as for the youth and 
beauty — well, they will both fade. No doubt, I shall be 
old and ugly some day, and you shall tell me of it; then 
we will be even. We shall always go on in this old house, 
and if you love me ” 

She raised her face and smiled divinely out of tenderest 
eyes and rosy lips. 

“Oh, Sylvie, Sylvie, think before you make that old 
tie come true! For I can never give you up again. I 
may even torment you with a jealous love, as if I were 
ten years younger. I may ask so much of your youth and 
sweetness ” 

“You cannot ask too much,” she interrupted, quickly. 
“It is all yours — all ; and if I had a thousand times more, 
it should be yours.” 

“And I must go.” 

“Yes, you must go at once. For if you stay, all my 
bravery will die out, and I shall keep you and be forever 
ashamed of myself. Oh, yes, go !” 

But he had to unclasp the little hands, and he kissed 
down in the sweet rosy mouth that gave him so much in 
return that it took almost superhuman courage to say 
farewell. 

The narrow old streets were full of excitement. The 
French residents, largely Creoles now, had their “Marseil- 


322 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 


laise” and “Le Chant du Depart.” It blended with 
“Yankee Doodle” and other airs. Women crowded the 
windows and balconies, and cheered sons and brothers 
as they went by. Their hearts were not all dancing and 
frivolity. 

And although they came to know afterward that much 
of it might have been spared, the moral victory was worth 
it all. Of that grand January 8, many a song has been 
sung, many a tale told. And when the last of the enemy, 
not less brave than their conquerors, left the shores of 
Lake Borgne, after their signal defeat, shouts rent the 
air, and every head was bared to the sagacious and brill- 
iant young general who was later on to govern the whole 
country. 

The enthusiasm in the Place d’Armes knew no bounds. 
Arches and banners and pennons of all the peoples who 
made up the city floated everywhere. Houses were illu- 
minated with colored lanterns. And, oh, the flowers! 
It might have been midsummer instead of midwinter. 
The columns of troops went by, flower-crowned with the 
rain of blossoms that showered from every window. 
Salvos of artillery greeted them, for there was cause for 
very little mourning. Six killed and seven wounded, and 
New Orleans stood next to the two grand naval victories 
that had distinguished the War of 1812. 

The old cathedral was crowded. People knelt in the 
aisles and on the steps with husbands and brothers and 
sons; and there were no words brave and beautiful and 
grateful enough for the thanksgiving. 

One small figure in gray, veiled, stood on the steps, 
watching. And when a tall soldier, a volunteer without 
much military adornment, was walking reverentially in, 
realizing that he had much to thank God for, a little 

323 


A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. 


hand was slipped in his, and they elbowed their way 
together to the very steps of the chancel and knelt in 
solemn betrothal. 

After that old New Orleans almost faded away, as one 
might say. In the sunshine of prosperity the streets ran 
swiftly out in the fields, the thickets and swamps were 
cleared up. Steamboats went up and down the river. 
The great Gulf was dotted with commerce, the docks and 
wharves and levees pushed out over reclaimed marshes. 
Houses and stores and improvements of all kinds went 
on. They were so busy they could hardly pause for 
intellectual advancement. Their sons went to Paris for 
education, and their literature had few opportunities for 
development. 

•But it came at last. Busy pens found the romance and 
poetry hidden away in hundreds of places, needing only 
to be brought to light. All the way along from the day 
De Bienville planted his city, all the first two hundred 
years of its existence is marked by legendary treasures 
that later poets and romancers and historians have un- 
earthed. Few places can boast of so much striking 
interest. 

And to-day, amid all of its magnificent improvements 
and grandeur, many of the old places are still recalled and 
cherished. The French aspect lingers. It is unlike any 
other city. 

Roger Norton served it for several years, and then the 
general government, finding him trustworthy and of good, 
sound sense, employed him in several capacities, sending 
him presently to Paris. And while they were there Hugh 
de Brienne overcame his wife’s fears, and they made the 
journey with no misadventure. The old chateau had been 
transformed into a convent, but they found the room in 
which the child Sylvie was married to some one across 


324 


THE PASSING OF THE OLD. 


the great ocean, then to be married again in the cathedral 
— she would have it so, even if it was not her Church, for 
it was here she gave thanks for her lover’s return. The 
old house and garden where she had passed her childhood 
was always dear to them both. 

That was nearly a hundred years ago, and they have 
all vanished, leaving sweet memories behind. 


325 


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